


Between Us

by Puniyo



Series: Parallel Universes [2]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Blowjobs, First Love, M/M, Self-Discovery, Slice of Life, alternative universe, based on CMBYN, drunken kisses, it's M-rated for a reason, lemon and sugar, switch characters, the proper amount of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-01 08:21:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13994304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Puniyo/pseuds/Puniyo
Summary: This is a journey of self-discovery of two human beings connected by one single link: their love for skating. When Yuzuru is invited to spend a summer in the same house, Javier is thrust into a labyrinth of passion, desire - and love.[COMPLETED - 23/04/2018]





	1. The First Day

**Author's Note:**

> Hello dear readers! I should control myself better but I just couldn't. I watched Call Me By Your Name this past weekend and I was totally devastated - I still am - in a positive way! It reminded of my own relationships, it challenged all my views about intimacy, and it inspired me to write this piece. 
> 
> This is basically an adaptation of CMBYN, set in an alternative universe, in a small town in Spain, with our usual couple as main characters. I can't and I won't copy events of the movie. Some things will be based on it but I just wanted that sensual atmosphere and bond between the characters here. This will probably be a short piece, 3 or 4 chapters. 
> 
> I hope you will enjoy this piece, whether you have seen the movie or not :)
> 
> The usual disclaimers apply. This is work purely from my imagination and inspired by CMBYN. In no ways what is written here reflects the people mentioned and I have no intention whatsoever to plagiarize a masterpiece.

_‘Venga Javier_ , just choose one.’

‘Are you sure you’re not cheating?’ – He looks again at the two plastic red sticks held by his friend.

‘You’ll never know.’

He picks the left one – a yellow end. _My loss_.

‘Yes!’ – The taller of the Javiers euphorically jumps in the air, his own stick completely dyed in crimson. – ‘Maybe you will like _him_ more than you think.’

‘You’re not the one sharing your room.’

‘Sorry man, but a deal is a deal.’ – He turns around picking his oversized backpack. – _‘¡Hasta luego!’_

Javier Fernández is left alone in a rather small room, the air stagnant from not having visitors and a thin layer of dust on the desk next to the bed. He throws the red stick on the wired basket and starts to unpack his own luggage – shorts, tracksuits, swimming shorts, T-shirts, underwear, black laces – his skates. He flings himself to the mattress, the coils shrieking in a menacing way. The ceiling is uncharacteristically clear from humidity spots and mold.

 _Maybe I will like_ him _more than I think._

He glances at his wristwatch. Still 5:28pm. He should have arrived already.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sound of a car engine stopping on the stone pavement wakes him up. He doesn’t remember falling asleep in the afternoon.

‘Stop lazing around and come here!’ – He doesn’t remember when Laura entered his room as well.

His sister is leaning on the window, her feet tapping a joyful, excited rhythm. Her long hazelnut hair flutters with the gentle night breeze, while his untamed locks remain the same – wild and free. He leans next to her as Brian loudly greets a ‘ _welcome!_ ’ to the boy who leaves the vehicle. _He_ bows, one time, two times, and bows again when Brian takes _his_ hand in an awkward handshake.

‘Polite, keeps the distance… I like that.’ – Laura waves frantically to the new guest.

The entrance is dimly lit and all looks dark, hidden behind shadows. Black hair, black pants, black T-shirt, black trainers, black sports bag. The trees behind _him_ dance with the mellow breeze and a few leaves fall to the ground. Thin, _he_ is too thin, such a slender frame, and _he_ looks up.

 _He_ smiles and bows.

Their gazes lock for brief seconds. Black eyes, black irises, black marbles. A few fireflies swing around, the green and yellow luminescence making the whole scene look like a page from a fairy tale book – uncanny and surreal.

He feels a shiver running down his spine.

‘Let’s go down Javi!’ – And Laura is already running down the stairs.

He shakes off that paralyzing shudder and follows her promptly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‘Welcome, welcome!’ – Brian’s voice is still as loud as he remembers. – ‘I hope your journey was a good one.’ – And he offers a glass of water, two slices of lemon in it, to the newly arrived guest.

 _He_ gladly accepts it and _his_ eyes light up at the refreshing tangy taste on his tongue. _He_ continues drinking that elixir of life until the last drop. The blonde woman sitting next to him fills the cup with more.

‘Our lemons here have a special flavor, almost magical.’ – She notices the approaching steps from the siblings, both whispering something in Spanish. – ‘Isn’t it Javi?’

‘What is it?’

Their gazes lock again, this time for more than brief seconds. Black hair, black T-shirt, black eyes. Still too slender, still too thin. _He_ looks frail, a little pale, quite young, but he can outline the muscles in his arms and almost feel in him the strength of the grip on the glass cup.

‘ _Los limones_.’ – Tracy says.

‘ _Los limones_.’ – He repeats absentmindedly.

‘Laura and Javi, this is _Yuzuru_. He is helping us this year with the camp.’ – The mysterious newcomer stands up and bows again but Laura is already beside him and offers a hug. He accepts it and she whispers a few words in his ear.

Javier can’t hear any of them.

‘Have you decided who will share the room?’ – Brian asks but his sister is quicker and steals the floor.

‘ _Mi hermano Javi_. He lost the bet.’

‘What bet?’ – The motherly figure in the room throws a disapproving look to the younger sibling. He just shrugs his shoulder.

‘Don’t mind her.’ – And he extends his hand to the dark-haired stranger. – ‘Javier. Nice to meet you.’

The grip is even stronger than he imagined it to be. Stronger and firmer. Hand of a warrior.

‘Nice to meet you too.’

It is the first time he listens to his voice. Not too low, slightly high, but still manly. Not a violin, a viola that doesn’t strum like velvet, but it is smooth. Delicate but not feeble.

‘Come. I’ll show you around.’

The younger man nods and bows one last time to his hosts and follows him, his bag looking too modest for someone going on holidays abroad. Laura smiles and accompanies both Tracy and Brian to the kitchen, the older man supporting a pensive grin himself.

‘Is this all your stuff?’ – Javier asks Yuzuru as he opens the door to his room. He flicks the light switch. Nothing. He tries again. Nothing. He makes a mental note to change it later.

‘No,’ – he drops the black case on the floor gently – ‘only skates here. The rest will come tomorrow.’ – He looks around, his eyes curiously scanning the rustic room like a child in a new playground.

‘Problems with the flight?’

He receives no answer.

‘We are not actually sharing the room. Only the bathroom. I left some space in the cabinet for your things.’ – He draws open the burlap curtains, light to the touch. – ‘Our balconies are also connected, so you can come to my side whenever you like. Summers here are very hot and humid but you can’t really close the window, so you’re bound to be bitten by mosquitoes.’

He looks back and Yuzuru has already lain in bed, his head resting on the feathery pillow.

‘Sorry,’ – His voice is muffled by the soft material – ‘very tired.’

Black hair, black pants, black eyes. Even in bed, _he_ still looks too slender, too thin. Even only basking in the shy moonlight that penetrates the space between them, he can delineate the muscles of _his_ thighs and legs, and he notices the beads on _his_ wrist.

‘Do you want supper?’

‘Sorry Javier,’ – He repeats the apology again, his speech slow and almost inaudible, drifting to sleep already.

‘It’s fine. You can call me Javi.’

He is ready to go out when he hears a murmur.

‘Yuzu.’

It must be the wind.

‘What?’

‘Call me _Yuzu_.’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The blazing sunrays and the sultry opera of nightingales and goldfinches brings his conscience back to the present. He opens his eyes, his hand instinctively shielding him from the blinding light and he stretches his limbs in slow-motion. He returns his head to the pillow, the smell of ripe oranges luring him back to sleep.

The door next room closes with a loud thud that even shakes his bed. He is startled by the violence of the tremor and he sits on the edge of the bed. It’s hot, the air is very humid, and his shirt is wet from sweating. It clings to his skin in the most unpleasant way and he takes it off immediately, his legs already advancing to the bathroom for a shower.

The water soothes his muscles and back. The cotton towels smell of oranges too and he feels tempted to bite their sweetness. It is then that he realizes he had not brought a change of clothes in his sports bag, that all his luggage was still in Japan, and that he would have to walk naked in the house.

Naked. No, not an option.

He notices a small hill of fabric in front of his door and picks up the items – red shorts, white T-shirt, _his_ underwear, a toothbrush, and a small handwritten note.

_Thought you might need them. Javier_

‘Javier.’

He copies the name on the foggy mirror, his finger drawing the letters on the steam.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‘Good morning Yuzuru!’ – Tracy points him the empty seat next to Javier Raya and in front of Javier Fernández.

‘Good morning. Sorry I’m late.’ – He bows to her before sitting down, his hair still wet and a drop of water sliding down his neck. The shirt is too loose but it fits.

‘That’s nonsense. I know how jet lag can be tough.’ – She touches his shoulder in a gentle manner. – ‘Coffee?’

Yuzuru hesitates for a second but nods in agreement.

Laura recognizes his outfit and turns to her brother with inquisitive eyes.

‘ _¿Qué pasa?_ ’ (What’s wrong?)

‘ _¿Tu ropa, Javier?_ ’ (Your clothes, Javier?)

‘ _Él no trajo nada._ ’ (He didn’t bring any.)

She doesn’t continue the enquiry when Brian joins them for breakfast, a newspaper in his hand, his face radiating with joy and his usual matinal optimism.

‘The orphanage of lost souls is complete again!’

‘I’m not lost.’ – Laura retorts back as she spreads butter on her toast.

‘Me neither.’ – Raya echoes her. – ‘Only _Javi_.’

‘I’m not.’

‘He got dumped yesterday.’

Javier almost chokes on his coffee and shoots a very threatening look to his friend, a promise of revenge to follow soon.

‘You never tell me things, _brother_!’

‘I didn’t get dumped. There is no relationship.’

‘She was really pretty.’

Javier drops two spoons of sugar, full and tall like the Pyrenees, onto Raya’s coffee. In retaliation, the other spills milk over his sandwich, his bread slices turning soggy and way too soft for his taste. They laugh at their stupidity and Laura also joins the fun, the three of them giggling and talking in their native tongue.

Yuzuru feels like he is intruding a warm family painting but the question doesn’t leave his mind.

‘An orphanage?’

There is a sudden quietude and Tracy elbows the eldest man for his choice of words.

‘Brain is too dramatic. This is a skating camp and everyone is free to join.’ – Her smile is reassuring. – ‘Are you not hungry?’

He picks a toast from the plate on the center of the table and wonders what to put on top – butter, cheese, ham, quince marmalade. He picks the glass jar with brown content and tries a little. It’s honey, sweet and flowery. He spreads a good amount on his plate and licks the excess from his finger, not wanting to waste a single drop of the luscious nectar.

He notices _Javi_ staring at him.

‘So what are you boys doing today?’ – Brian bites a well-rounded persimmon. – ‘The camp only starts tomorrow so you all have a free day today.’

‘I can bring Yuzuru to town.’ – He realizes that the younger man hasn’t touched his coffee at all. – ‘He probably needs to buy things since his luggage hasn’t arrived yet.’

‘Yes, please.’ – He tries to clean the bread crumbs on his lips, only to spread honey on his face.

Javier smiles.

_Maybe you will like him more than you think._


	2. The First Two Weeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of water bottles and coins, quadruple jumps and spins, apricots and dragonflies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there dear readers! This was originally supposed to be a much longer chapter, but it somehow became some sort of slow-burn and I decided to leave some things for the next one. Everything deserves to be developed so bear with me. Emotionally charged scenes will soon follow (they are very clear in my mind).

The bicycles he used are still in the same place as he remembered from last year. The same corner in the garage, sheltered from the sunlight during Summer and raindrops in Winter. Now on the outside, they look quite old, a few rusty patches on the spokes of the wheels, the green and red paint on the frame tubes peeling off. He cleans the dust from the cushioned saddles with a neglected piece of cloth and throws it away under Brian’s car.

‘Do you know how to ride one?’

Yuzuru nods. He readjusts the height of his saddle, tests the brakes and the rubbery texture of the handlebars and nods again. ‘This is a good bike.’ He pedals in circles around Javier, clearly showing control of the machine.

‘I chose them last year.’

‘Is this your way of saying you have good taste?’

‘It doesn’t hurt to try.’ He notices the black beads in _his_ wrist, the small round crystals reflecting light in different directions. Who knew people could buy stars now?

‘Javier. _Javi_.’

His name sounds different from _his_ mouth. Not entirely correct, not right either, just different. He might get used to being called like that. ‘Yes?’

‘Thank you for the clothes.’

He doesn’t have time to say that those are not a gift, that he expects them back to his wardrobe, washed, dried, ironed. The younger man has already pedaled off.

‘You’re too slow Javi!’

He quickly gets on his bicycle, almost falling off from the irritation of having someone challenging him, soon catching the new tenant on the house still laughing. He makes sure he is in the lead, one wheel space ahead.

It is his home, his pavements and his roads. He is the one to know the way to town.

It is short commute, less than half an hour, but he can already feel the dampness of his shirt adhering to his back and smell the earthy odor of the soil on his shoes. The bells on the church tower ring in an authoritative beat, nine strikes, and they stop by the fountain at the center of the square, the statue on top already dilapidated and covered in moss. It is unclear if it is a man, a woman – it’s neither.

‘So where do you want to go first?’ Javier open his arms embracing all the buildings around him.

‘Water.’ Yuzuru tucks the longer strands of his hair behind his ear.

‘What?’

‘It’s so hot. Let’s have a drink first.’

‘Wait me here.’

He dashes to the nearest _café_ , he himself feeling thirsty and wanting to quench the dryness of his throat. He runs almost instinctively as if _he_ might evaporate in the sunlight if left alone. He buys two glass bottles, freezing to the touch, and he doesn’t bother to put back the change on the pocket of his shorts.

Yuzuru is talking with his tenor tone on the phone, his face looking slightly lost while his free hand is moving up and down in an incessant rhythm, like a broken robot. He thanks one last time before tucking back the electronic device into his small backpack.

‘Something wrong?’ He asks as he gives him the desired drink.

‘Thanks.’

He observes the young man gulp down the content without ceremony, _his_ lips on the collar of the bottle, kissing the material and sucking in desperate pace. _He_ wipes the thin trail that escapes _his_ mouth with the back of his hand, water and saliva on _his_ skin, in a nimble and graceful manner, so different from the furious need _he_ just showed.

He stares at _his_ lips, red and moist.

‘My luggage arrived just now. It’s good that Brian gave me _our_ address before we left.’

He directs his gaze to his own bottle and takes a sip – sweet as he imagined. ‘Great then.’ He sits next to Yuzuru, in front of the fountain, and the coins hit the stone surface.

The younger man takes the biggest one and plays with it between his fingers. He raises it to the sky as if to check the tiny inscriptions in it and smiles.

‘Silver and gold. Like two medals in one. Two as one. It’s beautiful.’

_Two as one._

‘You’re not shy.’

Yuzuru raises his brows and he is seemingly confused at the statement. He hands in back the two-euro coin, their fingers brushing each other’s lightly, feathers on still water. _His_ touch is cold but it stirs the pulse in him.

‘Why should I be?’

_Why should you be?_

Javier just smiles, suddenly feeling the weight of the androgynous statue on him, looming over his own shadow and humidity tingles the back of his neck. He is staring again at the crimson lips. They are almost like a stain on his pale face. He feels uncomfortable.

‘I will go back now.’

And he drives off, not once looking back, and pedaling faster and faster on the scorching pavement.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The children’s laughter and excited screams echoes throughout the training arena. The first official lesson from the ‘lost souls’, as Brian likes to name it, has just ended and happy parents with their groceries bags and dangling car keys come to pick up the younger ones. Yuzuru shows a last camel spin, free leg extended and perfectly parallel to the ice, his blade drawing small circles then larger ones. A few girls applaud, giggling between themselves and playing an improvised rock-paper-scissors game to see who would be the one to ask the new coach out.

‘Look, all the girls love him already.’ Sonia leans on the side boards next to Sara.

‘ _Un príncipe de muy lejos_. (A prince from afar.) Like Aladdin who came on the magic carpet.’

Javier wipes off the sweat on his forehead, his breath a little ragged from the sequence of jumps he just did. ‘Aladdin wasn’t a prince.’ The whole Spanish gang throws him an annoyed look and he raises his arms as apology. ‘But he does have the charm.’

‘Not just the girls, all the boys are worshiping him too.’

‘He looks better than the one last year.’

‘What was his name again?’

‘Birdman?’

‘It started with a ‘R’.’

‘Rainbow?’

‘Why would his parents name him that?’

‘Rainman?’

‘Are we even trying?’

‘Ribbon?’

‘It’s _Rippon_.’ – And Javier waves at Tracy, who soon joins them. She pretends to be angry at them for not doing their stroking exercises properly but she too laughs at her own tone.

‘Wow, Yuzuru is already really popular.’

‘That’s what we were saying.’ Raya sheathes his blades, fatigue clearly showing in his red face.

‘Someone will lose the crown very soon.’

‘Hey! I’m still here.’

‘ _Tendremos un nuevo rey my pronto_. (We will have a new king very soon.) Any last words, _Javi_?’

‘I’m not yet retiring.’

Sara’s applause distracts the masculine voices and they turn quiet, admiring the source of the ovation. Not a camel spin, a donut spin, change of foot, sit position, all in a variation of seconds.

_Perfect._

‘He’s more flexible than you Laura.’

‘I never said I was flexible.’

‘Hey Javi!’ Sara throws him _that_ smirk and he knows that he will not like it. ‘He can do the Biellmann.’

‘I wouldn’t be so confident.’

‘ _¿Quieres apostar?_ ’ (Do you want to bet?)

‘ _¿Tienes tanta gana de perder?_ ’ (Do you really want to lose that much?)

‘Don’t cry later Javi.’ And she sprints in direction to meet Yuzuru, like a princess drawn to the arms of her loyal knight. He can’t hear what she says from the gap between them but she points at him and the young prince just nods. Her mouth is still moving, open and shut, a fish out of water, and he keeps nodding.

‘You better get a hold of her Kirill or you might want to join the singles category next season.’

Sara returns soon to the camaraderie and every single one of them has their eyes fixated at the center of the rink where the main actor is, Javier included. There is sweat in his palms and a rush of adrenaline that travels to the sole of his feet, up to his head and down again.

Yuzuru spins, slow at first, warming the muscles of his legs – a gazelle in a frozen pond. He soon gains momentum, slight knee bend, his right hand catches the blade of his free leg and he lifts it, foot high above head, his back arched. Three turns, four turns, and he releases the hook from his fingers. He bows to his audience, right hand on his heart.

_Perfect._

Javier jumps. No, he doesn’t. It’s only a flinch when Sara appears in front of him, his soul finally returning to the mortal vessel.

‘ _¿Qué quieres?_ ’ (What do you want?)

‘You lost.’

‘I know.’ _My loss. Again_.

‘ _Hace un cuádruple Salchow_.’ (Do a quadruple Salchow.)

‘Can’t it be something else?’

‘A deal is a deal.’

He reluctantly agrees to it, the rink empty of all the young skaters as if to concede all the territory to him. He does a few crossovers to gain speed, always close to the boards – _inside edge, it’s easy Javi, you can do this, do it!_ – he leaps, his knees and ankles vaulting him to the air. His soul soars, higher and higher, four rotations, and he lands. Clean and perfect.

_Perfect._

_I can do this._

The gazelle dashes through him, a very faint trail of lemon following immediately behind. _He_ is fast, faster than he was. Too fast, _he_ can’t control the energy. He feels the same cascade of adrenaline washing his veins and mingling with his blood as he sees _his_ back to him and that slender silhouette leap into the precipice.

_Stupid._

Yuzuru falls to the ice, _hard_ , his own attempt at the four-revolution jump nothing but a free ticket to a wounded ego.

_Black shirt, black pants, black boots, black hair, black eyes. And a black bruise on your skin._

‘Are you okay?’ Javier offers his hand at the fallen warrior.

The younger man takes it. ‘Nothing is broken.’ He is back to his feet, his hips a little sore.

Their fingers touch again, not feathers on still water, but pebbles on a stormy sea. They linger longer in tentative caresses. An electrical wave stings the nerves at his fingertips and the Spaniard retrieves his hand, almost _too_ abruptly and rough.

‘Javi?’

‘Sorry.’ _It’s uncomfortable_. ‘Be careful.’

He leaves the ice, not understanding why _he_ is _different_. His friends call him but he just ignores the voices, the swearing and _everything_.

The tiles in the locker room are cold and it feels inviting. His back hits the wall and his legs give up. He sits on the floor, his head between the knees.

_It’s uncomfortable._

He’s _hard_.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been a week since Javier has seen Yuzuru. Wrong. There are two toothbrushes next to the faucet.

He applies the white cream on his face, trying not think about it. He turns off the tap, the basin filled with translucent water.

It’s been a week since Javier has talked to Yuzuru. Wrong Again. A small hand towel hangs on the hook next to the cabinet – yellow with a bear print.

The razor does its usual work, downward motions, always down. The water is less clear now, lime-scented foam and short hazelnut hair floating in it.

It’s been a week since his body has gained life on its and it felt _good_.

_Bingo._

He hisses at the sudden excess of force and blood drips on the water. The job is done, the cut stings but it is barely noticeable on the mirror.

_Get a hold of yourself Javi._

They share the same space, divided by the bathroom in between. The sun is already high in its own sea of clouds and it’s hot, the temperature even higher than the other days so far. There is a tiny crepuscule of light shining through the cracks of _his_ door. Maybe _he_ owns _his_ own sun.

Javier is drawn to that light. He knows he shouldn’t look but he is already instinctively searching for it. Yuzuru is still sleeping, the covers on the floor, his pillow halfway there. His head is resting on his elbow, his dark hair over the tip of his nose, and he is not wearing anything.

He swallows hard.

‘Javi?’ _His_ voice sounds lower, breathier, and more _seductive_ over the door.

His cheeks burn and he considers not answering, pretending he is just in the middle of his daily matinal routine.

‘Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you up.’

‘Water.’

_A déjà-vu._

‘It’s so hot.’ He finally moves, struggling to get up, and rolls around instead. ‘How does the ice not melt?’

He laughs at his childishness and the way _he_ sulks. ‘C’mon, I’ll bring you to a good place.’

‘Where?’

‘My secret place. I’ll meet you downstairs.’

And he leaves the bathroom, still laughing as he hears the younger man next door tumble and cursing loudly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Javier takes the last sip of his coffee and the last bite of his slightly burnt toast when Yuzuru arrives at the breakfast table. It’s only the two of them.

‘Coffee?’

He shakes his head and pours a glass of cold lemon water. He drinks it in one gulp, not a drop left. ‘Are we ready to go?’

‘Aren’t you hungry?’

Yuzuru scans the different items of the buffet and picks up an apricot.

The Spaniard watches him fondle the ripe reddish skin until _he_ finds a soft spot and sinks _his_ teeth in the succulent flesh. The juice drips from _his_ chin and _he_ quickly finds a napkin to avoid staining _his_ own clothes, licking the remnants on _his_ lips.

_Why do you do this?_

‘I’m curious.’

‘About what?’

‘ _Your_ secret place.’

They soon ride their bikes on the same soiled roads, patches of grass in the middle, and corn canes that bask their fruits under the heat of the day. They both pedal at the same speed, Javier occasionally pointing at the different farms and pastures where he used to steal an orange or two, and Yuzuru wishing he could have done the same. It’s one less turn to the left before reaching the center of the town and they continue through wooden fences and brambles, into the shadows of the forest.

It’s a quietude away from human voices except the scrapping of the metal chains and the piercing cries of the cicadas. It’s the crossing to a new dimension, a parallel world between dreams and reality, a limbo suspended between their villa and the Spanish town. The crown of the trees, thick and massively gigantic safeguard their steps but the branches soon open into Javier’s paradise.

He is already running, his shirt discarded to a nearby boulder, and he dives into the crystalline water. He shouts from the top of his lungs – a primal cry – from the pleasure seeping into his pores.

Yuzuru walks slowly, his feet avoiding the nettles in serpentine patterns and he almost trips as he watches the Spaniard swim in fast strokes, then slow, forward, then backwards, the glimmer of the lake like an extension of him.

He sits at the bank, at the edge of that immensity, his feet submerged in the water. It feels good. He closes his eyes for a moment letting the ripples travel to his whole body and the wet murmur on the rocks sing him songs.

It scares him.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Thinking.’

‘Thinking about what?’

‘Just thinking.’

Javier spouts water at him pretending to be annoyed at that answer. Yuzuru dodges but his hand slips and he almost falls to the lake. His arms are trembling and he hopes the other man can’t see it.

‘Come here _Yuzu_!’

‘No.’ He answers too fast. ‘We have training later.’ His eyes follow _his_ strong arms as _he_ glides from one side to the other, until _he_ is close, _his_ body distortedly refracted under the water, drops on _his_ eyelashes and on _his_ lips.

‘Why did you bring me here Javi?’

‘Because I wanted to.’

Their gaze lock again, brief seconds. A dragonfly rests on Javier’s wet shoulder.

It flies away when Yuzuru tries to catch it.

‘Are you still thinking?’

‘Yes.’ The younger man throws a small pebble, round and polished, to the center of the lake, the stone sinking without hesitation. ‘About _you_.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback and crazy theories are always appreciated! My doors and windows never close :P


	3. The First Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of rock and Axel jumps, coffee and life, alcohol and kisses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, I hope you have been enjoying the ride so far. This is a rather emotional chapter personally and it hits home to me. I think the summary pretty much tells everything so I'll make this brief this time.
> 
> NOTE: there might be some sensitive/triggering content in this chapter (the middle section) regarding asthma.

The piercing sound of the electric guitar resonates in his eardrums as he steps into the rink, Brian and Tracy on the side explaining what it seems to be a loop jump to a large group of middle schoolers, and the usual Spanish suspects stretching their limbs in the weirdest positions. Two men are on the ice, one guiding the other, their movements random and arbitrary.

‘Jeff is here today.’ Javier sits on the bench at the side, his boots still unlaced.

‘David is too. They came this morning.’

‘Jeff was too excited about our new prince. They just started fifteen minutes ago.’

Yuzuru follows the same patterns as they are instructed – flip the hair, raise the chin, pull the collar of his training gear. Jeffrey points to the ceiling, then down to the floor again, open arms, then close, look straight to the audience, look over the shoulder. He nods attentively, points at the knee for clarification, and they both try once again, not to the guitar riffs but only to the rhythm.

‘He is a very silent skater.’

‘Can you hear the blades?’

‘Is that your future Sonia, being a critic of figure skating?’

‘At least I hold the microphone better than you do.’

‘ _Y ella habla major Inglés que tu Raya._ ’ (She speaks better English than you do Raya.)

‘With better grammar.’

‘Even Kirill has smarter words than Raya.’

‘Shut up.’

The step sequence has flaws but it is synchronized. The younger man is a porcelain doll, a string marionette, his movements precise and accurate under the watchful gaze of the choreographer, who encourages him to inject his own character and charisma in his interpretation. Jeffrey replays the song from the beginning and Javier finally recognizes it.

_Parisienne Walkways._

Yuzuru repeats the same steps as before but it is different. It is the same rockers and mohawks, three turns and brackets, but they are _loud_ and his edges compose the melody as he glides. It is the same Yuzuru, the initial hesitant rendition to the star persona of Gary Moore’s harmonics and the shy smile. Their eyes meet for brief seconds. It is the same Yuzuru but his hands run down his chest to his hips and the arrogant smirk is both challenging and enticing. He has become one with the song, body and soul, his twizzles exuding confidence. He throws a lunge, unpredicted, and his blades carve the ice, not a soft caress, but rough and dominating, not gentle in their intercourse. It’s almost revenge when he falls as he slips on the entrance for a spin and his legs fidgets in a childish frenzy.

Javier can almost feel the same electricity, like _before_ , descend by gravity, down and down.

Jeffrey offers his hand and the younger man takes it without hesitation, his cheeks slightly flustered from the spur of energy and from embarrassment.

‘That was great Yuzu! Forget about David. You’re mine.’

_Yours?_

‘ _¡Vaya!_ I wish I could be like him.’ Sara pets Raya’s back in an agreeing salute.

‘I wish I could be _with_ him.’

‘Montoya!’

The whole group laughs at Felipe’s attempt to make excuses for his sudden confession and the escalating red shades on his face.

_I wish I could be with him._

Javier changes the tune, his also a rock rendition, as he takes the stage, his face serious and unable to let go of the curdling convulsions in his gut.

_Yours?_

The opening quadruple toe loop is unruly and his palms hit the ice. It’s only one jump but it frees the tension on his muscles. He snaps his fingers to his _Black Betty_ , a roll of shoulders, a thrust of hips. The triple flip is improvised and uncoordinated with the falling melody, and he doesn’t care. A besti squat, spread eagles, and sloppy turns not in David’s choreography – he likes it better this way.

It’s liberating.

He finishes the program with an imaginary gun in his hand and he shoots.

_Yuzuru._

Javier returns to the company of his friends, they all clapping, and Tracy hands him a bottle of water. He sits on the bench, still recovering his breath, and he notices the black pants, the black boots, the black shirt, the black beads, the younger man swiftly taking a seat next to him, the black hair and dark eyes answering him with the same fierceness of a tiger.

‘Why do you hide your skating Javi?’

He drinks a mouthful of water and almost chokes. ‘I don’t.’

‘You do.’

‘He does.’ Raya points at him. ‘Or else I wouldn’t have won Nationals last year.’

He doesn’t want to continue the conversation, suddenly feeling uncomfortable in his own training gear and the tightness of the knots in his boots.

_I don’t hide._

_Do I?_

_I love skating._

_Do I?_

Brian arrives with the same group of students from before, the girls chatting and stealing glances at Yuzuru while the boys arm wrestle in thin air and chase each other, until the older coach finally raises his voice in a threatening promise.

‘Today we are going to practice the most difficult jump in figure skating – the Axel.’ The group explodes in a clatter of _yes!_ and _finally!_ , their energy palpable and contagious. Sonia exemplifies the jump, her movements exaggerated and with a telegraphic entry. ‘The Axel jump was invented by the Norwegian skater Axel Paulsen, way before any of us here was born, and as you all saw just now, it’s the only jump with a forward take off. Am I clear?’

All the heads nod at the same time.

Brian continues with the mechanics and physics of the jump and Javier feels transported back to when he was six years old, barely able to balance himself on the thin blade but unafraid to just leap and immune to the pain. ‘Use your outside edge, swing your arms just before you gain momentum and use your knee to step up and launch forward.’ Some of the faces are uncertain and even confused. ‘It looks frightening in the beginning but once you have tried a couple of times, you will be confident enough.’

Yuzuru stands up and politely interrupts the coach’s reassuring reminder. ‘Sorry Brian, but I think you are wrong.’

Everyone in the ice is suddenly intrigued by his objection and they all listen curiously to his version of the jump.

‘The Axel is not scary and you have nothing to fear about. This is a jump with personality and– ‘, he is at a loss of words and his fingers run through his hair, ‘there is a wall and you need to conquer that wall! Don’t be afraid to climb it with all you have to give.’ His left fist hits his right palm and he lets it fall, as if crumbing under the impact. ‘The Axel is a jump of love. Break that wall.’

He looks directly into Javier’s eyes. ‘Break that wall and grab what you _want_ with your hands.’

Yuzuru skates to the center. He does a few crossovers to gain speed and he vaults himself to the air, three and half complete rotations. There are a few minutes of intimidating silence before Brian concedes defeat and ask the usual gang to help the kids with warm-up and preparation to avoid injuries.

Javier is still suspended in the spell of his jump, his heart painfully pushing against his ribcage.

‘ _Vamos Javi!_ ’ Yuzuru grabs his wrist, breaking the magic. ‘Don’t hide again.’

_I’m not._

‘Let go.’

The fingers on his pulse intensify the grip and he is afraid he will be burnt by _his_ warmth.

‘Let go, _Yuzuru_.’

He does. A curse of hollowness hits his bones and he leaves the rink, not bearing to look at the hurt in _his_ eyes.

The knife of guilt cuts sharper than any sword.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Let go._

He wishes he had not said those words. He looks at himself in the mirror in the dark, and he can barely recognize the person in the reflection. His fist hits the ceramic tiles, hard, and blood rushes to his knuckles. He curses in Spanish under his breath, trying to maintain composure and not startle the tenant next door. It’s past midnight and the evening breeze is cold, a prelude to Autumn that slowly seeps into the corners of the house.

He splashes the last wave of water in his face, washing away his thoughts in a purification ritual, when he hears a loud crashing sound on the wooden floor. The faint light over the crack on the door is gone and he can’t see anything on the tiny opening.

‘Yuzuru?’

He spies again through the fracture, the same darkness cozily overpowering the room, but he hears an agonizing moan and he instinctively opens the door, stepping into the forbidden space. The curtains flap with the occasional gusts of wind and there are a few dry leaves below the desk. Yuzuru is sitting on the floor, his back resting on the sides of the bed, the broken lamp lying next to his crouched silhouette. His breathing is erratic, his chest inflating and deflating in a rapid cadence, his fingers scratching his neck.

Javier quickly kneels in front of him, his hands suddenly shaking from the fear that gnaws his stomach. ‘What is wrong Yuzuru?’

The more he tries, the less he breathes. His eyes are red and wet with tears, and he coughs, the forced exhalation ripping his throat apart. ‘ _Javi_.’

‘Don’t talk.’ Yuzuru grabs his wrist, the same one that afternoon, but the touch is not gentle and it is a plead for help. It is strong, too strong, and his nails dig into his skin. He has no idea who is trembling more.

‘Coffee.’

_Coffee?_

His mouth is open, gasping for air that refuses to go in. He leans his head on the mattress and more tears stream down his cheeks. ‘ _Please._ ’

Javier tries to stand up but the hand on his wrist pulls him closer, their faces merely inches apart.

‘Don’t go.’

He releases himself from the iron clutch, the rush of adrenaline overriding the helplessness in his mind. ‘I’ll be right back.’

The Spaniard runs downstairs, almost tripping in a few steps, the urgency in his nerves fogging his vision. Coffee, he thinks to himself. _Coffee_ , he chants like a sacred hymn. The kitchen is pristine clean, not a single plate left to wash in the sink and all the cooper pans carefully hung below the spices shelf. Javier notices the moka pot on the stove and he lets out a sigh of relief. It must have been left over from after dinner that Brian didn’t finish. He grabs a cup from the dish drainer, the small recipient almost slipping through his fingers and he pours the brown mixture in. It’s cold, unfiltered, the smell still as strong though. He tries not to spill any as he dashes back to the room.

Yuzuru is barely conscious but the heaving of his chest still continues.

‘Here. Coffee. Drink it.’ His whole body is limp and he can’t hold the cup, most of his strength gone, departed with the feeble puffs of air. Javier kneels in front of him again and brings the yellow mug to his lips. The younger man grimaces at the extreme bitterness and he chokes, the little amount he had drunk now staining the Spaniard’s shirt.

‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t talk.’ He mentally curses for not remembering to put some sugar, _anything_ sweet, that could help to swallow the sharp astringency.

Yuzuru manages to gulp down the rest of it, a bout of cough in between, and he feels cold, his eyelids heavy and the tears burning his irises.

‘Don’t go.’

‘I’m not going anywhere.’

‘ _Don’t go_.’

Javier puts his arms around his shoulders and pulls him closer, his black hair tickling his neck as Yuzuru dives into him, a free fall. He smells of lemon and vanilla that coffee can’t even erase. It’s two hectic pulses, to need and to be needed, to go or to stay, each on their own. They remain in silence, the moon lighting a strip on the floor in front of them. Javier holds his hand, warmer but still shivering, and he feels for the first time the smoothness of the beads on his own skin.

Seconds pass, maybe minutes, even hours, he doesn’t know. A gentle breeze surrounds them and they are both awake, their pulses now in the same pace, the same tranquility and calmness, the fight for survival a distant memory of the past now.

_Let go._

‘Was it my fault?’

Yuzuru smiles, finally breathing with a serene nostalgia.

‘No.’

The silence is comforting and the younger man slightly shifts in his embrace.

‘This is why you don’t drink coffee.’

‘I drink coffee.’

‘But it reminds you of this.’

‘I’m not weak.’

‘No one said you were.’

‘You think I’m weak.’

‘I don’t.’

_You’re not weak Yuzu._

‘I like the way you skate.’

Javier chuckles at that and he instinctively entwine their fingers.

‘Your secret place is beautiful.’

‘We can go back there.’

There is another moment of silence, milliseconds, maybe seconds, even minutes.

‘I don’t know,’ the younger man’s voice is almost inaudible and his words barely coherent, ‘I don’t know how to swim.’

‘I’ll teach you.’

Yuzuru only nods. He soon falls asleep from exhaustion.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Laura and Brian are vividly discussing a new activity for the older students of the camp when both Javier and Yuzuru arrive at the breakfast table, both of them unusually late and sporting the same dark circles under their eyes. Yuzuru looks particularly tired and there are scratches on his neck, red and like they were done by the claws of a cat.

Laura and Brian exchange confused looks and smirks but they don’t question the two recently arrived males. Javier is already devouring a bagel with butter and apricot jam but Yuzuru doesn’t even touch the cutlery and pours a coffee for himself.

‘ _Es Viernes._ ’ (It’s Friday.)

‘ _¿Y qué?_ ’ (So what?)

‘ _Hoy es la feria de Agosto._ ’ (Today is the Fair of August.)

‘ _No me importa_.’ (I don’t care.)

‘ _Aguafiestas_.’ (Killjoy.)

Laura notices that Yuzuru is looking at them with curious eyes. ‘Do you want to go to the Fair Yuzuru?’

‘What fair?’

‘He’s too tired Laura. Leave Yuzu out of this.’

‘Just because you don’t want to go, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t.’ And she sticks her tongue at her brother. ‘It’s a party to celebrate summer. It’s fun!’ She passes him the milk. ‘Brian will also go, won’t you?’

‘Oh no, I’ll have to skip this one.’ His phone suddenly rings and he stands up to leave. ‘There are plenty of things to discuss for the charity gala and I need to leave everything ready when we return to Toronto next month.’ And he answers the call, already away from the trio.

_When we return to Toronto._

‘So Yuzuru, do you want to go?’

‘Sure. Sounds fun.’

She throws him a kiss and he pretends to have caught it.

‘I will go too then.’

‘Didn’t you say you wanted to stay home?’

‘ _He cambiado de ideas._ ’ (I changed my mind.)

The veil of evening anchors early and the public square is full of people in a myriad of colors and fabrics, floral patterns and rainbow stripes, strap sandals and some even barefoot. The dilapidated statue of the fountain has gained a new coat of glow, a static lighthouse for the drunk and the water a blessing for the lovers sitting around it. The balconies of the three-story buildings are decorated with flower garlands, dyed hydrangeas and gerberas, and the music is loud, almost deafening.

Laura is the one to spot Sara and Sonia in a small table near the church and Felipe, Raya and Kirill soon bring them drinks, long and short glasses, slices of pineapples and pomegranate seeds.

‘What do you want to drink?’ Javier asks Yuzuru, pointing at the menu in one of the stalls.

‘What are you having?’

‘That one.’ He points at the same one the couple in front of them is having, the ice cubes colliding with slices of lemon and a sprig of rosemary immersed in an amber liquid.

‘Do you like it?’

‘It’s pretty good.’

‘Then I want that one as well.’

‘It’s _very_ strong.’

‘If you can handle it, I can too.’

If this was a challenge, he would gladly accept it. The impromptu bartender fixes their orders and they toast to their _friendship_. Javier laughs as he watches Yuzuru take the first sip, his eyes closing when the bitterness of the vodka crawls down his throat and the volatile alcohol shots straight to his temples. It is soon replaced by the sourness of the green citrus and the sweetness of the soda.

‘This is good!’

‘Trust me.’

They join the usual group, their chatter disseminating in the clamor of the crowd. A second round of glasses materializes and soon a third. The alfresco discotheque continues, upbeat tunes and popular choices. They are all in their feet, bouncing and jumping, arms flailing in all directions and impossible spins without blades. _Torero_ finishes and everyone claps and shouts for more.

It’s a mellow melody and people quickly gather with their partners. Javier pulls Yuzuru to his direction, his hands holding the slender waist while the younger man drapes his over his shoulder. The keys of the piano strikes an intimate resonance and a serious drift.

_“The door closed with you_

_You took my ground to the night_

_And now in this empty room_

_I don’t know how many shadows will come.”_

They don’t dance. They let their bodies touch, forehead on forehead, hips on hips, and they sway at their own rhythm.

_“I still know the way to reach you_

_And your enchanted torn dress_

_The light of the dawn_

_And your body from inside_

_And the skin on the skin of who you desire the most.”_

Javier is feeling particularly courageous, maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe they are drunk, maybe it’s because of _him_. His fingertips tiptoe his waist, the contour of his vertebrae, from his neck down to his lower back and he tentatively brushes his buttocks. Yuzuru moans into his ear.

_“I don’t have any more secrets_

_I’ve hidden between your fingers_

_We are the same._

_But today, only today_

_Take me to where you will go_

_I want to tell you…”_

Yuzuru stops. ‘I don’t feel so well.’

‘Come.’

Javier leads him away from the dancefloor, away from the multitude of heads and the odor of sweat, inebriation and eau de colognes. No one notices them, the party unaffected by the loss of two side participants.

They walk under the moonlight and the ocean of stars, constellations and galaxies, in silence, the footpath only illuminated with tiny fireflies. They are not riding their bicycles but Yuzuru recognizes the road and where it will lead.

‘Are you feeling better?’

The younger man nods, his stomach feeling funny and the contents dancing inside, his head heavy and an unusual heat on his lower body. Javier trips on a few rocks and depressions on the earthy pavement and he laughs.

The lake at night is even more magical and the moon is a silver plate reflected on the water. It attracts both men, like sirens to their imminent shipwreck. The Spaniard is the one to dive into the pool of crystal first, again. Yuzuru watches him, jealous of his ability not to drown. He touches the freezing water and brings some to his lips.

‘Come here, _Yuzu_.’ Javier offers his hand. ‘Trust me.’

He takes it. His body rejects the coming waves and ripples and he tenses as the coldness attacks his chest and lungs.

‘Don’t fight it. _Feel_ it.’

Javier entwine their fingers again and pulls him in slowly, further into the water. He stops when he knows the next step will be too deep and he releases his grip. Yuzuru panics for a moment, the darkness around them an extra layer of terror but he is not sinking. It’s cold, almost freezing, and yet it is as if a candle had been lit inside of him and he explores the pebbles at the bottom with his toes, the algae that caress his thighs, he tastes the hint of salt in his tongue. He yells as loud as he can, his voice echoing in his own eardrums, in the trees, in the universe.

They both lay down on the grass, side by side, their shirts and shorts completely wet and soaking their underwear.

‘I want you to kiss me.’

Javier rises to his elbows and stares at the black eyes, the request stirring the pulse in him just as in the first day. He traces the shape of his mouth, the firmness but silky quality of his lips and he kisses them, hesitant and clumsy.

They both laugh at their own nervousness and impatience. Yuzuru is biting his lower lip, glimpses of his pink tongue, and Javier kisses them again, pushier and greedier, drowning with his flavor, the alcohol and vanilla.

_Don’t stop._

_Don’t go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Torero' is a song by Chayanne, a Puerto Rican singer. This song was extremely popular at parties when I was in high school. 
> 
> The song used in the 'mellow' part is a translation from 'Não desistas de mim' by Pedro Abrunhosa, again, one of my favorite Portuguese musicians of all time (and I apologize for taking liberties with the translation). Even if you don't understand the language, try to look for it in youtube or something. The initial 10 seconds or so are so powerful and they dictate the whole mood of that scene. 
> 
> Now, I said that this chapter was somehow very personal because that asthma attack that I wrote above was actually something that happened to me, more than once, and unlucky me, I was alone in those times. It is a very frightening experience I can tell you.


	4. The First Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of swans and coins, thunder and peppermint, being two and being only one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there dear readers, I hope everything fine with you all! I'm going through an existential crisis so I hope it hasn't affected much my writing *sighs* 
> 
> This chapter is borderline explicit, not yet there, I might save it for a fruit (if you get what I mean), and as usual, feedback is much appreciated.
> 
> The usual disclaimers apply: this is a product of my depressed imagination and it is entirely a work of fiction.

The ball bounces up and down, it hits the palm of his hand and it goes to the ceiling again, in an ascending and descending vicious cycle. He catches the small green tennis ball, throws it again in a defiant gesture against Newton’s gravity, in broad daylight, amidst the concert of the cicadas. He throws it up again – he hears _him_ flushing the toilet - he loses concentration, and the ball falls right between his eyebrows. He curses under his breath, the sudden onset of pain bringing tears to his eyes.

The door next room closes, harsh and strident on the dry hinges. There are faint footsteps but they are gone soon, like someone who is trying to stealthily escape but doesn’t bother to take off the metal sole shoes.

Seven days. Six days and one night. One week. One week less one morning.

It is one less apricot in the basket at breakfast and the bicycle is never parked next to his until midnight arrives. It is remnants of foam on the bathtub and briefs in the dirty laundry basket, but the room is always dark. It is always an Axel for warm-up, a Lutz for main course, and a Loop for dessert, but not the same group, gone by lunch and the usual _hi_ , _great_ and _please_ by dinner.

_Where have you been Yuzuru?_

He brings his fingers to his lips. _Alcohol and vanilla_. Like gelato with hot chocolate. Or strawberries with paprika.

The journey down the stairs is a quick one, two or three steps skipped, and there are no traces of _his_ shadow in the same route, nor a strand of hair suspended in the dust in the corners or a fingerprint in the preserved oak banister. Gone like a ghost but haunting every wall of the villa and every synapsis in his brain.

Brian is sitting at the unusually large Victorian armchair, next to the fireplace that’s now empty but clean from ashes, except a few grey spots on its basalt hearth. The older coach is applying a protective wax coat on his boots. Javier sits on the floor, legs crossed and next to his mentor, staring at nothing and thinking of everything.

‘I have had these for more than twenty years. Almost as old as you are Javi.’ He looks proudly at the torn leather and scratched blades.

‘Never thought of changing them?’

‘Never. They’ve accompanied me through good and bad times.’

‘Things change.’

‘You can’t be an artisan unless you master your craft.’ Brian puts down the oil-stained rag. ‘Or love it.’

‘I like skating.’

‘Do you?’

Javier shifts uncomfortably on the frigid red tiles and stands up, his legs feeling restless at the question. His hands reach for the pockets of his shorts in a defensive manner and they are greeted with a metallic round object that he had forgotten to take out – a two-euro coin.

_Silver and gold. Two as one._

The Spaniard tucks it back and flops into the couch, his body landing on the spare cushions, one of them falling to the floor. He picks it up and Brian watches the whole sequence with a humorous curiosity.

‘I _like_ skating.’ The younger man repeats again.

‘I’ve noticed.’

‘What?’

‘No more half-assed attitude and incomplete run-throughs. Your Salchow has stabilized.’

Javier chuckles to himself and rans a hand through his curls.

‘David was so happy to know that you decided to work on the choreography again. He hasn’t given up yet in making you a rock star.’

‘With skulls rings and a spiked choker.’

‘The leather belts might be more aesthetically pleasing.’

They both laugh at the imaginary punk attire. The sun seems to join them at their conversation, the curtains not enough to mask completely the golden rays. There is a chafed humidity though, that lurks in the house and the Spaniard can feel a trail of sweat run down his back.

‘Do you think I can compete again?’

‘Do you want to compete?’

‘I–‘, he hesitates for a few seconds before answering, ‘I would like to try.’

Brian sits next to him and pets his thigh. An unspoken approval of a father to a son. ‘You’ve changed Javi.’

‘Is it better like this?’

‘I don’t know. Only you can tell.’

Javier nods, his head moving forward and back like the pendulum of the antique clock in the same room. Never stretching too far, never back to the same place.

‘What should I do Brian?’

‘About what?’

He fiddles with his own T-shirt, the fabric wrinkling under his touch into a knot and untangling right immediately after to cover his navel.

‘I feel I’m part of a shipwreck and I’m drowning in the waters I’ve always known.’

‘But you know how to swim.’

‘The current is too fast.’

‘That had never stopped you before.’

He pauses for a moment, still unable to find the right words. ‘It is different.’

‘What is different?’

‘ _No lo sé_.’ (I don’t know.)

‘Are the sea creatures pulling you away from the shore?’

Javier shrugs his shoulders at the question. Sea creatures. A nymph. With black hair, black eyes, and black beads made from the forgotten residual particles of the sunken seabed.

‘So it’s a duck?’ Brian mentally counts all the possibilities.

‘No,’ he shakes his head, the image of a bird suddenly flashing in front of his eyes, ‘it’s a swam.’

Javier tells his coach how he has never seen such a beautiful swan, its slender neck and feathers of vanilla petals. That he believes its purity shall not be touched but that he wants to be the one to corrupt it with his breath, like how oxygen consumes iron. That this swan has stirred an unbearable desire in his veins and made this Summer like the surface of the Sun itself, but that he wants to melt on that desire and never be released from it. That what he sees when he closes his eyes disgusts him and waves of nausea crashes at the walls of his stomach, but that he feels empty and hollow, just cells in a decaying flesh vessel, when he opens his eyes and the swan has hidden away. That he sees himself from a screen, a mini-television and his actions scrutinized by his own sanity, but he has never felt more certain of who he is and who he can be. That he thinks to die is not enough of a punishment but that he feels more alive than ever.

‘You know Javi,’ Brian pours him a glass of lemon water, three slices of the fruit in it, ‘swans always come in pairs. They spend all their youth looking for that bond and once they find it, they mate for life. They can’t be alone. No, solitude kills them.’

‘What if they can’t find their pair?’

‘They will. Sometimes it’s even closer than their own reflection in the water.’

Javier takes sip of the cold drink, the ice cubes almost gone from the emanated heat in his hands. The older man returns to his skates, now polishing the blades.

‘Have you seen Yuzuru today?’

Brian smiles but his student can’t see it. ‘I haven’t.’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He wouldn’t have guessed it was already past midnight if it wasn’t for the usurper next room – the other half of his room – talking incessantly and with unbridled enthusiasm, to whomever was able to decipher the foreign strings of words. Speed of light and no pauses in between, Javier couldn’t understand a single second of the cadence of Hertz, but he knows of his laughter and it makes him uncomfortable. Again.

_Why can’t you laugh for me?_

The call subsides and the suspended time is mute, only the plastic hanger hitting the floor and the first lumps of hail on his window pane, only a few, announcing the arrival of rain and a thunder that crashes near their villa. Noise. All noise and he wants to hear his voice once more, even if their languages will never meet and encyclopedias become obsolete for any translation.

The sky flashes again and the ground shakes with the new roar of thunder. Javier can’t sleep, and neither can _he_. A night with two is less pitiful than a night with one. He knocks at the wooden barrier between their shared space.

‘Yuzu, can we talk?’

Because talking is what he knows. And talking makes lies come true.

An eternity seems to have gone and restored when the younger man opens the door, a glimpse of hope after the nine circles of hell.

‘Come in.’

Yuzuru is standing next to his desk, the sleeves of the oversized jumper covering entirely his hands, and his briefs are barely visible, saved for the thin stripe below the upper garment. He puts down the pair of thick framed glasses next to an A5 notebook. Javier notices the ticks, circles and triangles in the worn-out pages and the abbreviations he had seen many times in protocols. He also notices the same phone before in the public square, silent but blinking in a green, like a broken lighthouse.

An intruder, he thinks, because it was his time now. His to listen to that voice and his to look, only for himself, the black hair, the black eyes, his dark shadow under the moonlight, his bared knees and legs, chiseled like the sculptures in the Louvre that he went once and never forgot.

No. Yuzuru was more than those statues encapsulated in cages of toughened glass.

Javier remains still, at the side of the desk, his entire body tense and rigid. ‘I liked the kiss.’

The younger man smiles but keeps the nonchalant gaze towards the raindrops. He takes a step slowly to the bed and sits on the footboard, his fingers fidgeting with the petite titanium ball on his necklace.

‘Me too.’

Javier sits next to him, his own knee brushing oh so lightly on Yuzuru’s, a plea for approval but he doesn’t wait for a reply and his hand is touching his face, like he did by the lake, the same smoothness and heat from his lips, an attempt to re-enact that same moment.

‘Please don’t tell me it was the drinks.’

_Please tell me I don’t need to wake up._

‘I don’t know.’ The younger man leans on the touch, a cat on the cuddle of its owner. ‘Try again.’

Javier does. He meets the heat with his, their noses too, the same hesitant pressure and explorative endeavor, slowly and tentative, not the same as before, no alcohol but sweet vanilla. He feels Yuzuru’s hands caress the back of his neck, a shiver down his spine, and a strong pulling grip on his hair. He gasps at the sudden pain but he is met with a wet tongue, vestiges of peppermint toothpaste, inside his mouth, Yuzuru’s saliva mixing with his, drinking of him and from him. It’s like having his mouth violated by the strength of _his_ desire, or his own, he doesn’t know and he doesn’t care, and he sucks his pink organ, not letting it move, until Yuzuru softens the grip and tries to retreat for air, inadvertently brushing the knee at his groin, and the new electric wave makes his inhale sharply.

Javier tries to balance himself in front of the younger man, but his hands slip on the footboard and they both fall, the frame slats and the springs of the mattress creaking with the dropping weight of their bodies. Yuzuru coughs at the impact on his ribcage but the abrupt exhalation soon morphs into a mixture of a laughter and a needy pant.

‘You’re so _hard_.’

He is. But it isn’t all lust, he tells himself. He returns to the same lips, the only part he has tasted so far, a prelude to what can still surprise him. He doesn’t dive into them but doesn’t recoil either, in the uncanny search for something he has forgotten. He stares at the younger man’s swollen lips and he touches his own parted ones, the joy of re-discovering his own body overtaking the beating of his heart. He closes his eyes and runs his finger through Yuzuru’s black disheveled hair, his forehead, his earlobes, the mole below it, the bridge of his nose, a bite on his fingertip, the chin, just as he was touching himself, in the same places, and this made him even _harder._

_‘Javi.’_

He kept moving his hands down, eager to find more. The jumper seemed inappropriate for the occasion, a barrier between him, Yuzuru, and _himself_ , and it was soon discarded on the floor, a mini thunder. He was even thinner than he remembered, the muscles on his navel and abdomen well defined, not an ancient Greek statue, but ticklish as he shifted and contorted oh so lightly when his nails crawled from his belly-button, up his sternum, and pinched the two virginal buds of his nipples. The silence between them, only their breaths, was sensual and even more erotic, Javier thought, as Yuzuru tried to show restraint, controlling the air going in and out of his lungs, and consciously suppressing the volume of his voice.

_But you will cry._

He lifts the younger’s man wrist to his lips, their eyes never leaving each other, and Javier licks circular patterns in the spot of arteries and veins, beneath the beads. _The beads._ He assumes these are very important, a part of who Yuzuru is and an extension of his body, so he sucks them, one by one, gelid like blocks of ice. Also the titanium ball and the rhombus pendant on his collarbone.

Javier stops, a sudden realization descending upon that same star-shaped rosary. It looks dark in the pale skin of the younger man. It’s not the color but the number of crystals – agglomerates of sand in their own hourglass that will soon be over and gone.

_Gone._

He pulls the necklace, the wire connecting the tiny spheres, and tightens it at his Adam’s apple. Yuzuru finally releases a sound, a gasp for air, and Javier kisses him again, this time he the one violating his mouth and the inside, offering himself to save from suffocating.

‘You’re _hard_ too.’

Yuzuru is. His cheeks are flushed from the intensity of the eyes on him and he moans when the Spaniard undresses and straddles him, pressing their wet underwear against each other.

‘Fuck me _Javi_.’

‘No.’

Javier finally strips away the rest of the physical hurdles between them, a kiss on his toes, the ankle, the calves, the back of the knee, the inner thigh, and once again _his_ lips, gentle, no probing, experimenting once more. They are both smiling between the polite and conjectural kisses.

‘I will make love to you.’

_So you won’t forget._

When Javier enters Yuzuru, amidst tiptoe caresses on his belly, obscenities with his name, and slick fingers stroking his dripping manhood, the younger man cries, the primal sob of pain as raw and powerful as the one that escapes the Spaniard’s mouth. Entering _him_ and himself. The tightness holding him and _himself_. They don’t know how long they have been suspended in time, if one of the crystals had fallen already, but when Javier thrusts again, so deep and straight to his prostate, the haven of pleasure for Yuzuru, he can’t bear the excruciating thought of not being inside of him and not being able to intoxicate in the scent of their bodies and sex, of the musk and pine, lemon and vanilla.

Because Yuzuru’s pain was his pain, and Javier’s pleasure was his too. _Two as one._

‘Don’t go.’

And Javier didn’t. He came with one last lunge, his essence tattooing and filling the younger man. Yuzuru too, his semen on their navels and a trace of white on the black beads.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When dawn alights, the Sun again outshining the clouds of the storm, he wakes up to an empty bed. The sheets are rumpled, the other pillow at his feet, and broken strands of dark hair to remind him of the true tenant of that room. The ghost spot next to him is still warm and he can’t be far away. He stretches his arms and legs, arches his back, picks up what looks like his clothes, his orange plain shirt. When he puts on the briefs, he realizes those are not his, the elastic band more constricting than the usual ones. Who cared? He would just wear his shorts.

He sees the oversized jumper and the sagged shoulders from the balcony. Yuzuru is downstairs, outside, by the sycamore table he only sat during afternoons for the shadow of the olive copse. Javier feels an urge to run to him, to join him now, at the advent of a new day, and to hug him, embrace in his arms the places he couldn’t last night, or to simply breathe the same oxygen, the same dust and toxins as he does.

Yuzuru is drawing on the unpolished wooden surface, his fingers dipping on the pool of rainwater that had not dried. He flinches at the pair of hands on his neck and Javier mutters an apology for frightening his focused trance, before sitting next to him.

‘Hey.’

‘ _Hey_.’

He tries to make contact with the younger man but the jumper is in the way of their thighs and Yuzuru continues drawing, painting dots in random depressions.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Nothing is wrong.’

The stale air of indifference makes his muscles quiver and the same foul taste of the alcohol he had not drunk slides down his esophagus and tangle the acid and the bile in his gut.

‘Do you regret last night?’

Yuzuru’s hands stop and he looks at him, without warning for the unbashful honesty.

‘Do you?’

Javier can’t read the dark marble of his eyes and he swallows dry, momentarily losing his voice.

‘Come,’ the younger man leaves the table without looking back, ‘let’s get breakfast.’


	5. The First Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of misunderstandings and bathroom tiles, tea bags and Spanish conspiracy, one matador and swans that fly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was intended (again) to be a longer chapter, but if I continued, it would be too long for my standards and I prefer to reserve a fruit for next time ;)  
> This is some sort of interlude for last time and a jumping board for the next two chapters. Yes, I will finish this fic in the next two chapters, so better a breather now than later.
> 
> As always this is a work of fiction purely from my repressed muses.
> 
> ETA: I didn't notice there were so many careless mistakes when I posted it. Pardon me.
> 
> ETA2: I am in NO way advocating, promoting and justifying any kind of sexual assault/violence. My characters would never act upon such to inflict pain, power and dominance over the other. What I write, and this is where language might be problematic, are guilt and the need for redemption, there are desires in life that are so strong that corrupt you more than you could imagine, and the necessity to capture that intensity. I had explored the same in Pluto. Please jot me down a comment if you're uncomfortable with it and I will gladly discuss my ideas with you :)

He walks ahead, his steps never faltering and he doesn’t pause for a single millisecond, his breathing, Javier thinks he can hear, is perfectly timed with the rhythm of his own heart. He had not paid much attention last night but Yuzuru’s green oversized jumper could be some sort of dress in a newest fashion trend, the sleeves so long it covered his hands completely and made his upper limbs look impossibly stretched. The fabric covered his buttocks, round, soft, and _full_ , like the ripe apricots the younger man always had for snack. His legs were exposed to the summer mugginess and he caught glimpses of the inner thighs that had _held on to him and encouraged him to impale him, into him_ just a few hours ago, as they were going up the stairs.

_And I would do you again, Yuzuru, again and again, and surrender myself, if you only looked at me now._

The door of his room always closed with a courtesy he had not mastered yet, even when the hinges needed to be lubricated. His own bed was politely made, not a ruffle on the bedsheets and cover, as if no one had been in that space last night. And no one had. He sat beside his pillow and inhaled it like a memory exercise. It smelled of cinnamon and hints of bergamot. A little spiced and refreshing that reminded him of the brew Laura would make for him when he had a stomachache for scooping _stracciatella_ ice-cream when he couldn’t sleep. But the ache now was another and it was vanilla that enshrined him, and vanilla that he craved. Not just vanilla, but infused with his own essence that he knew not what it was, in the sheets and into the memory foam of the mattress, in the crevices of the wooden floor, soaked into the pages of his notebook, into the crisscrossed fibers of the curtains, and spread like balm on the light bulb of the new lamp and every handle, of the balcony, the window, the wardrobe, so Yuzuru would be reminded of their secret, of the wetness of their ecstasy, and his body ardently opening to him.

He hears a second impact, a second door closing and his instincts turn on the auto-pilot mode, no time to dwell on a poem of why, what and how, and he storms into the bathroom. The younger man is stripping off his clothes, the jumper already lifeless on the basin but he stops when he notices one more presence, the predator aura feasting on his fear and making him move further into the shower.

‘What–‘

‘Don’t.’

_Don’t talk Yuzuru._

Javier is already claiming his lips, savagely and ruthlessly, drawing blood, while his body pushes the younger man against the wall, his head and back hitting the tiles with an injuring coercion. He tries to push him away but the Spaniard has his shoulders on him and his hands are holding him by the jaw and chin, a trap he can’t escape.

‘Stop–‘

The articulation of different sounds only gives an opening for Javier to thrust his tongue in, burning and slippery, amidst their labored breathing through the nose and wet sounds, almost erotic, of lips smacking in a chaotic flow of keeping still and wrestling out.

_Do you regret last night?_

He did not allow him to answer, because he would have none. No, he would extract it from that cavern of his, the throbbing inner linings, and the tongue that still dared to resist. He would violate his mouth, again and again, like he had done yesterday, because he knew _he_ had enjoyed it, and it was the only remembrance of having had partaken a piece of his soul.

Yuzuru doesn’t trust his legs to hold on much longer, the claustrophobic panic of the situation blending with the upsurging excitement condensing on his groins with each lick on his teeth, on the roof of his mouth, under his tongue. It is _good_ , too _good_ , he tries to dispel the thought, and luckily, his hands find way to the faucet on the wall, red or blue he knew not, and he turns it around.

The water of their shower is the coldest in the whole villa and each drop is an ice shard on their sensitive skins. Javier yelps at the sudden arrival of winter and he takes a step back, unable to breathe and the sharp headache finally bringing him back to the imperative reality. The younger man is shivering, from the wet hair plastered on his temples, from the sheer intense nature of their contact, from both, and this makes him uncomfortable.

The non-stopping shower washes away Javier’s desire and sheds all his layers, the guilt now emanating from his fingertips as he tentatively touches Yuzuru’s swollen lips, red and bruised.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t.’

He tries to retreat his hand but the younger man catches it on time, placing it on his cheek. Not plump, he can feel the bone, and there is frailty in the way he lingers in the touch but also a tenderness in the way he simply closes his eyes and reassuringly smiles.

‘It… _hurts_.’

Perhaps it is the continuous massage on Yuzuru’s face, or the steam tracks from the shower that has turned warmer now, but the blush on his face and the stammering of those words made Javier understand how stupid he had been for acting blindly on his own lust. He plants a supple kiss on both wrists of the younger man.

‘Is this why you ran away this morning?’

‘I didn’t.’

‘You weren’t in bed this morning.’

‘You sleep too much.’

‘I missed you.’

Yuzuru turns his back to him and he grabs the small yellow plastic bottle of shampoo right next to him, determined to go through this morning ritual and to satisfy his stomach, which would soon rumble for attention.

‘Let me help you.’

The gel is translucid like gelatin, even the texture. He massages his scalp, slowly and gently, which elicits a groan of approval from Yuzuru, the back of his neck, the curves of his earlobes, a scar on his shoulder blade that he probably didn’t know it was there, each cove between the vertebrae, until he notices the name of the brand he always wore on the elastic band of the briefs, and even now soaked and clinging to his thighs, they looked slightly large in size.

‘Are those my underwear, Yuzu?’

He receives no answer but the subito stiffening of the body in front of him was an instant cry to his manhood. He doesn’t remove them but plunges a hand inside, in the midriff between his _apricot_ , and he feels a stickiness mingling with the remnants of citrus shampoo in his fingers.

A memento of their first night that Yuzuru had refused to let go until now, of the first time he felt the need to connect to someone beyond flesh on flesh and cheap words, the first time he felt whole with _him_ and himself. It only made Javier savor more thoroughly the tingle of shame and embarrassment on his partner’s skin, the anticipation palpitating on his pores. He could enter him, right now, without ceremonies and pretense, and the way the younger man bit his own bruised lips to subdue, and failing to do so, the ecstatic moan, only encouraged him more.

‘Javi, don’t–‘

‘I know.’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yuzuru was the last one to sit at the breakfast table, all the other tenants already on their second toast or slice of cake. He was never one to eat much in the morning and he preferred always something light, that wouldn’t weight excessively on his stomach and make him lose appetite for lunch. His immaculate appearance, black hair perfectly combed and parted to the side, turquoise and white stripped polo shirt and denim shorts gained a second look from Laura, and he quickly sat next to Raya. Tracy stood up to pour him her signature freshly made coffee but Javier offered first and instead of the nutty caffeine roast, his cup was filled with hot water and a small packet floating in it.

He saw the water turn into olive-brown shades and the vapor soon jolted his taste buds – tea. Subtle, refined and mildly oxidized. How did he know this was his favorite drink? He took a sip, the flavor as he remembered but also different, tangier but infused with a spicy taste of Spring he couldn’t tell. The taste of Spain perhaps.

Brian is on his mobile device, the rectangular aluminum box being the cause for his indigestion at night. He’s nodding most of the talk, Toronto next month, Lake Placid no since season would have started, Éric Bompard a good choice yes, charity gala right, no he had submitted the papers already, Mariposa in Barrie, and a few numbers before he finally finished the call.

‘Didn’t they ask you the same two weeks ago?’ Tracy places a hard-boiled egg in his plate.

‘Thanks.’ Brian is already cutting it in half. ‘I really need to hire someone to take care of all these administrative matters.'

‘Shouldn’t they call the Club instead?’

‘Cricket received an influx of new applications and they are also short of staff too.’ Business at the breakfast table was never fun. ‘I wish this Summer was longer.’

Javier twitches at the mention of time and Yuzuru’s necklace is shining too brightly, the rays of sunlight ricocheting on the crystals, on the stainless-steel spoons and back to his pendant.

‘Trivial matters.’ The male coach finished his coffee and has turned to his orange juice. ‘So Yuzuru, have you decided when to go back?’

The Spaniard grips the butter knife harder so it won’t slip from his hand. _The Summer still hasn’t ended_.

‘Yes.’ And he feels Javier’s eyes on him, the expression on his face unreadable. ‘I talked to her last night.’

_Last night?_

‘They really need me back. I can’t sign anything here anyway and the earlier the better.’

_The earlier. Traitor._

‘So have you booked the flight already?’

_No._

‘Yes. Next Monday.’

‘Next Monday.’ Javier finds himself repeating the same words. ‘That’s exactly one week from now.’ He puts down the knife and the toast seemed like a huge slab on the plate, inedible and rotten.

‘Oh sweetheart,’ Tracy’s voice is hearty but tinged with a wistful timber, like a mother sending a child to the war trenches, ‘we wouldn’t mind having you for a couple more weeks, at least until Fall landed in this countryside.’ She is almost running to him for a hug. ‘Tell us about Japan.’

Yuzuru does, his hands doing part of the speech with a melancholic enthusiasm. He tells them about the islands, about the neon signs all night in the major cities and subway lines that connect every corner in the map in its own chaotic network. He mentions the beaches on the south and the snow on the north, the harmless but very loyal Akita breed of dogs he thought were fluffier and puffier versions of wolves, and how one could close their eyes and feel the ground shake.

Javier wonders whether that nostalgic sentimentality in the younger man’s eyes and flailing arms were the same as his own when he was in Toronto and people asked him about his Hispanic roots. He knows the bland taste on the mouth, like food without salt, and the fake smiles to disguise the nettle in the nerves and to save others from delivering sincere, but not heartfelt, pats on the shoulders.

He would never be selfish enough to ask him to stay in Spain longer, would he?

‘ _¿Estás bien, Javi?_ ’ Laura is perceptive as ever and she runs her hand along Javier’s curls, the same way she would always do since her brother came running to her lap, crying of frustration when he was six and couldn’t even stand in his skates without splatting on the ice almost every minute. He had never aged in her eyes, only his body, but he was still the same sensitive ego and open-book chronicle.

‘ _No pasa nada_.’ (It’s nothing.)

 _‘How long has this been going on?’_   They are speaking in their native tongue and in a volume only they can hear. A secret code between the Fernández siblings.

_‘What?’_

_‘You and Yuzuru.’_

_‘Nothing has happened.’_

_‘Do you think I’m blind?’_

_‘You might need glasses.’_

She pinches his arm and Javier almost knocks the glass of lemonade in front of him. The others are listening attentively to Yuzuru’s tales on the distant East so no one notices the commotion between the two.

_‘I’m jealous, Javi.’_

_‘Of what?’_

_‘No one has ever looked at me with those eyes.’_

_‘What eyes?’_

_‘You know what I mean.’_

He does and he doesn’t. The yearning for adoration hidden behind an iris of desire and the ferocity to be consumed in it – those were Yuzuru’s eyes, his own too – _their_ eyes.

_‘Has he said anything about me?’_

_‘Maybe.’_

_‘Maybe?’_

Laura only answers him with a smirk and a shrug of shoulders. She takes the last sip of her coffee, a light brown stain on her napkin, and she tells anyone that she’s already late, that she promised Sonia to check the apartment she had found to move in with her boyfriend. She waves to everyone at the table and leaves one last remark before she goes away.

‘Don’t let Javi bully you too much Yuzuru.’

She laughs, the younger man laughs, both understanding what the message entailed, and he laughs even more when a puzzled Javi tries to come back with a witty retort but not figuring how.

‘Since you’re free today Javi,’ Brian tries to recover his attention and prepare for the day while the rain doesn’t come back, ‘you could go to town and pick up your costume for your free skating program. And you could bring Yuzuru along to choose the color for his.’

Costume choosing and fitting, checking measurements and malleability of the whole piece, how much has he missed this past week? Trainings that didn’t transcribe into productive practices, sleepless nights that besieged the marrow of his bones, what was he last week but a hollow version of himself?

‘Have you decided which one?’ Raya is suddenly very interesting in the answer.

It must be some kind of bet again, Yuzuru thinks, as he as learned so far that Spanish people don’t lose a single opportunity to go against the odds to make their friends perform crazy stunts. ‘The grey one.’

The other skater mutters a very emphatic _yes_ to himself, his fingers tapping on the table the victory hymn for his ears. ‘Sara is going to cry. She loved the red version. You were her _matador_.’

_And matador you are, with your traje de luces, gold on your skin and the saber in your gasp. To die at your blade, would it be your wish? Or my wish, to have it in me, and at your command?_

Javier ponders at the mental picture, to have a sword puncturing him, until Brian touches his shoulders, his grip pushing him down to his chair. He realizes he had his gaze locked on Yuzuru and the bulge at his shorts is surely noticeable in the eyes of his coach.

All the others had left breakfast already, except Yuzuru, who was finishing the cup of tea. How long had he been daydreaming?

‘Javi,’ Brian calls him back to reality, ‘One week. Swans swim but they also _fly_.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Traje de luces - suit of lights, the outfit of a matador/toreador in the Iberian Peninsula. 
> 
> Feedback is very much appreciated <3


	6. The First Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of bicycles and pastel blue, illicit fruit affairs, and being thieves on stolen time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another story that is almost coming to an end. I'm not feeling particularly wordy this time, I guess it's the rainy week so far, so I'll just leave this short. 
> 
> Note: I apologize already that the next and final chapter might take some time since I'll be travelling soon. Ideas are in my head but I don't think I'll manage to write them down in the next week. Pardon me. 
> 
> This is a work of fiction and it shall remain as a product of my imagination. No offense is meant.

The taste of tea, insidiously subtle and apologetically bitter, reminded Yuzuru of home, of the ice rink of frozen spring water, and plum and cherry blossoms that shied away from the summer heat. The taste still lingered in his mouth as he and Javier went to get their bicycles for their commute to the center of the town, already part of their routine. _My routine_ , as he thought, like waking at night at the sound of Javier flumping into bed from fatigue, or listening to the a cappella of Javier’s blades after the most refined quadruple Salchow, or hearing Javier laugh in his native tongue, in the most childlike but seductive way. _My routine_ , he thinks again, like always choosing the apricot that was the furthest away from him but closest to Javier on the table, like always putting his toothbrush on Javier’s cup so he had to touch his before gargling the peppermint foam out, like always never closing the balcony door, always a slight rift so Javier could come to his room, whenever he wanted and whenever he pleased.

And the ache in his lower body reminded Yuzuru how the routine was no more and would never return. He grips the handlebars a little too hard, his knuckles turning white.

‘I’m sorry.’ The Spaniard lays a hand on top of his. ‘For this morning, I don’t know–‘

‘I was scared.’

‘I’m sorry.’ The caress on his hand is so feathery he is not sure it is there.

 _I was scared_ , he wanted to tell him, of being swept away and not knowing anymore who he was, of the intensity of their love making the previous night, so intense and acutely piercing that he thought he had fallen into an unknown realm, a parallel world where _you, my Javi_ , weren’t there anymore. Now that he was whole, he was scared of becoming parts again.

‘Come,’ Javier planted a kiss on the back of his hand before returning to his own vehicle, ‘we better go before Brian send us to the Zamboni for the rest of the _week_.’

‘We could walk to town.’ Pedaling seemed like a mocking task now, only accelerating what was left and never extending.

‘We will take the whole morning to get there.’

‘What’s the hurry for?’

‘Nothing.’

Yuzuru notices the perceptive gaze in the older skater and he feels his cheeks turning a little pink, a ripening pomegranate. It wasn’t only because of the pain, he told himself, not only.

‘I thought Spanish people were romantic, but maybe it’s only the French.’

‘Like Candeloro and Joubert?’

‘Yes, romantic and sexy.’

‘Only stereotypes.’

Javier gestures him to move aside and he does, watching his own bicycle returning to the its usual maintenance corner.

‘Fine.’ The Spaniard whispers the words next to his ear, the warm breath on his neck sending a shiver down his spine. ‘ _Ride me_.’

‘What?’ He automatically brushes his fingers on that same spot on his neck so the sensation won’t fade away.

‘I mean,’ Javier is already sitting on the saddle, ‘ride _with_ me.’

‘I’m not weak.’ The sudden patronizing feeling makes his voice instantly harsher.

‘No one said you were.’

‘So I’m the bachelor in distress?’

‘No.’ Javier’s smile is sincere and the most beautiful he has ever seen. ‘You are Yuzuru and I want you.’

 

The pastel blue of the sky and the white clouds, dunes of cotton and cocoons of silk, look like strokes in an endless canvas and Yuzuru extends his hands towards the azure vastness, trying to paint a few lines himself. The sun is not shy and he basks on its forging heat. He had not paid much attention when he was at the steering position himself, but now sitting on the back of the bicycle, leaning oh so lightly on Javier’s back, his own legs crisscrossing in a lethargic pace, trying not counter the balance of their weights on the wheels, he can truly inhale and absorb the earthy countryside. He is humming something, he knows not what it is, but it sounds virtuous and he continues.

Satin corn leaves that contrasted with the canary husks, scarecrows of purple among the dry fields of wheat and caches of full jujubes hanging on tall branches, Yuzuru feels he has just entered a painting from Monet and Van Gogh. The ‘blind’ and the ‘mad’, as he was taught in school. The pastel tones of summer, now tinted with autumn hues, seemed so ethereal and almost ghostly, gone if he failed to imprint them in his memory and a sturdy medium. He traces meandering and serpentine patterns on Javier’s back, his fingertips sketching on the t-shirt he wore and pressing down on the muscles of his waist, where he knew the other was ticklish. The Spaniard contorts and he is calling his name, the _Yuzu_ on his lips the one that he wants to hear in the week that is left.

‘Keep still or I will throw you out.’

Yuzuru leans again, hands to himself, as he tries not to laugh. He thinks he can hear Javier’s heart beat from where he is, or maybe it is just his own, the rhythm of the drumming so familiar and yet he can’t distinguish which one is his. _Blind_ and _mad_ , maybe that was him. Who could tell?

‘What are you thinking?’ Javier asks, aware of the sudden silence.

‘Just thinking.’

Because thinking is stealing and what worst crime is there than to steal more time? Yuzuru closes his eyes for a moment, perhaps the sand in the hourglass would stop for pity. He cannot listen anymore to their hearts, perhaps they have also stopped beating and that is when time would forgive them. But he can smell the pine and the sage in the shirt, the musk and sweat of his skin, and he wishes he could lick it and bite it, sink his teeth in and mark it with blood. Thieves they were and thieves they would still be.

‘Thinking about me?’

‘Also.’

 

Yuzuru had always thought that _Sastrería Real_ was the meeting point for itinerant businessmen who came to town to enjoy a bottle of beer and cigarettes and share their silver Zippos, while the hem of their suits was sewn or the sleeves ironed to perfection. It was his first time there and they were not the only skaters in the small tailoring house, a narrow corridor leading to an inner room with different designs on display. Most of them were in the novice category and they relinquished at their first costume ever, some of them not even willing to change back. It reminds him of the cowboy attire he used when he was in primary or the flamingo ombré his mother spent sleepless nights to complete for his debut.

Javier exchanges a few quick words with the rather young lady who was apparently the daughter of the owner of this fashion outlet and who had followed her father’s steps in the same career. The Spaniard promises he will be quick and hastily closes the opaque curtains of one of the fitting compartments. Yuzuru can’t see anything, the lusterless drapery obscuring his vision, except for the ankles, bare but not excessively bony and bearing the mark of the espadrilles.

Most of the parents had already finished paying for the costumes, some putting the amount on tab and opting for installments and left as the younger man sat on an empty chair while he waited. All but one girl, probably his age, twirling in front of the mirror with her vestal white dress, pink ribbon on the waist, and a flower crown. ‘ _Linda Julieta_ ,’ Yuzuru utters loud enough and she stops her dance, her face blushing but acknowledging the compliment. A group of friends call her and she leaves like Cinderella, not before saying something. The string of words is shot so fast that he can’t understand but he nods to be polite.

Javier has understood though.

‘Are you flirting now with the maidens in town?’

‘That was a lesson on how to be romantic.’

‘How do I look?’ The Spaniard drew the blinds to the side, revealing a new persona.

‘You look,’ the sky blue pastel watercolor has transfigured to his shirt, unbuttoned at the top, the white collar open, and cobalt suspenders that matched the striped basalt colored khaki-like pants, ‘handsome but plain.’

‘Better keep it simple.’

‘No.’

Yuzuru walks to the changing compartment and closes the curtain, not sure why he did so. They are both staring at the mirror in front of them and their reflections were them but also two strangers on different landmarks in the map who had met just a month ago.

_Thieves on stolen time._

‘Here,’ the younger man is standing behind Javier and slides a finger through the Spaniard’s ears and neck, and lets it rest at the pointy tips of the collar, ‘you could add some rhinestones. Here too.’ And his hands skid oh so lightly over the exposed chest, playing with the hairs there, as his fingers return to the buttons, first one on the ribcage, the next one following the sternum, the diaphragm, then the navel and stopping at the waistband. Their gaze never leave the mirror and the black eyes, the pair of dark marbles and obsidians, demanded attention.

Javier gladly entertains them and he shamelessly lets a moan slip through his lips as Yuzuru’s hips meet his. He can’t see the bulge in the shorts in the mirror but he _feels_ it on his own roundness and he can barely hide his.

The younger man holds him by the wrists, ‘platinum cuff links for the gentleman’, and guides both their hands to the imaginary zipper, his kitten claws again grazing down the _length_ and up again, ‘a diamond buckle.’ He smirks at the surge of testosterone in Javier and the shiver his body leaks. ‘Simple.’

Yuzuru’s cheeks are also tipsy with his boldness and the prospect of being found out. ‘These,’ and he pulls the suspenders, the elastic bands stretching and lashing on the Spaniard’s shoulder blades when he releases them, ‘I like these.’ His lips meet Javier’s ear, talking directly into it, discreetly low, only they the ones to indulge in the private and cryptic message. ‘You could tie me with those,’ he was invaded with a wave of desire that both scared and enslaved him to a carnality he never thought he had – to transform, to self-reinvent, to find himself anew in Javier’s body – ‘my hands so I can’t touch you, or my legs apart, spread for you. You could tie them around my cock when I _ride you_.’

‘Pervert.’ But Javier’s closed eyes tell him that he is thinking of it and delighting in the motion picture in his mind and the gratuitous screenplay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The following days were the exploration of their uncharted limits. There were invisible forces pulling them to the same animalistic greed for physical contact but also whimsical gravity to pull them apart and fiddle with their libido until one of them succumbed to the candor of their love making. Yuzuru never thought their bodies could be so sensitive and tuned to each other, the spots that made Javier come unabashedly the same that would make him curl his toes and dive into another realm. One where he had left his own body and where he could see himself drown in the bliss of pure lust and pleasure. And they explored, every day more and more, Monday on the veranda and only the moonlight to illuminate the path to their intimacy, Tuesday night on the marble counter of the kitchen when all the other members of the house were asleep, he leaning on the septic surface as Javier touched him inside and ran his manhood along his back, between his thighs, his hamstrings, his calves, the way he would pull the brown Spanish curls on the locker room of the rink, on the corn fields and under the shadows of the ripe _pink lady_ apples.

They never kissed though, an unspoken pact between them, just as their bodies were never penetrated by their sex. They only explored with their hands, their fingers, every fiber of their muscles, their furtive eyes and begging lips, their ragging obscenities and the fervor of their wills. To maintain the balance, Yuzuru thought, of what was theirs already and what could become, of what could be lost and what could be hidden from time. Their bodies were theirs to explore and he felt closer to Javier, closer to himself, closer to freedom. So close they could let go, smash down the barriers between them until they did not know whose ecstasy, moans or semen was.

Just as now, walking beside Javier on their way home from another naked intercourse of passion by the lake, _their_ secret place, Yuzuru notices the bite marks he has left on the Spaniard’s arm and he delights at the sight of them in the tanned skin. It’s a particularly hot day, perhaps the record for the summer and he is not sure whether it is water or sweat running down his back, and his shoulders are heavy with the sunrays burning on them. They walk in silence, relishing in the concert of the cicadas, as they take a detour through the orchard of their villa. There are trees of bulbous persimmons, lilac figs, and consummated oranges fallen on the dry earthy soil.

Javier picks one of them, wipes the jagged peel on the fabric of his shorts, and takes a bite. He gives it to Yuzuru, the younger man squeezing and drinking the juice. He laughs at his own slurping and the liquid trickles down his neck.

‘Come,’ the Spaniard is already a few steps ahead and standing next to a greener trunk and smaller canopy, the branches coiling down like a willow but each leaf long and waxed, ‘try this one.’

The fruit this time is paler in color and reduced in size, the rind extremely smooth and delicate like it could be bruised anytime. Yuzuru sink his nails in and part it in two halves. It is acid and sour at first but it transforms in his tongue, a flutter of tenuous sugariness.

‘What is this?’ He leans on the tree, away from the sun.

‘ _Una clementina_ ,’ Javier runs a hand through the younger man’s hair and gnaws on the fleshy carpel of the fruit, tasting Yuzuru’s fingers alongside, ‘a bastard from an illicit affair of the lemons in this garden.’

‘The forbidden romance in the plant kingdom.’

‘And the proof of their liaison for us to savor. _Two as one_.’

Yuzuru shivers at the sound of those words, and the sweetness of the hybrid fruit now a drug muddling his vision and an aphrodisiac poured on his throat. Javier notices this, he too intoxicated and his hand is already sliding down the younger man’s torso, expertly pinching his nipples. He crushes a very ripe clementine in his palm, letting the limonene essence coat the ivory skin, gather on the navel, and soak the waistband of the shorts.

A balm for the heat, Yuzuru thinks, as he smirks at the coolness of the juice and the massage by the minute white seeds. He encourages Javier for _more_ and the piece of garment depriving him of _more_ is already gone. He thrust his hips forward audaciously, not begging, but showing his partner where he wanted it. There is no coherence anymore when Javier’s tongue follows every single trail, purposely slow and in the torturous lapse of their game. The hazelnut curls are dry and he pulls them oh so lightly, like taking control of the reigns between them, but they crumble when he gasps at that same tongue on the tip of his manhood.

The Spaniard takes him immediately in the mouth, the throbbing member pulsing as it slides between his parted lips. He dictates the pace, sucking the pink tip, while his hands smear the clementine pulp on the creamy vanilla thighs and on the base of Yuzuru’s cock.

The combination of sticking wetness and the citrus scent with sex and Javier’s own perfume drove him to a frenzied madness, prickling his innermost part each time the man on his knees took him deeper and deeper, bringing tears to his eyes. He came fast, the orgasm ripping the same primal cry from his chords like in their first night together. He watched Javier drink all his essence, a few strokes on the sensitive length to guarantee that no single drop was wasted, their gazes always locked. It was a sight to behold, the flustered cheeks in his own sultry shortness of breath and curls drenched in sweat on his forehead. Yuzuru falls to his knees as well, and he kisses Javier on the lips with the sudden urge to seize their oneness before it was gone. It tasted of lemon sour and orange sweet, of saliva and his own saltiness, all flavors different but all just the same.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The soft mattress cushioned every contour of his body, especially his head which seemed like a bent nail being hammered with no success. The room was uncharacteristically cold for the season and he reached for a blanket only to find none. Where was he and what time was it?

‘Hey.’

He recognizes the voice – it was his too. Yuzuru tries to lift himself on his elbows but the pain, acutely drilled at his temples, drained him of his strength.

‘Is it dinner already?’ He manages to ask in an almost inaudible tone.

‘It’s almost midnight.’ Javier sits on the bed and brushes away the hair hovering his eyes. ‘You’re running a fever. I was worried when you skipped dinner.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Do you want to eat something?’

‘Just water.’

Javier gets a bottle from his room and quickly returns. He helps Yuzuru sit and make sure he doesn’t choke on the liquid.

‘You should rest tonight.’ The Spaniard kisses his eyelids and prepares to leave, but a hand grabs his shirt.

‘Sleep with me.’ Yuzuru yawns and hisses at the contraction of his facial muscles, all accentuating the pain. ‘I don’t want to be alone.’

And Javier complies, he too knowing it wasn’t solitude what they were fighting against. They both lay under the covers in the small bed, single sized, but perfect for the two of them. He strips off his pajamas, Yuzuru too, the pieces of clothing discarded on the wooden floor. He hugs the younger man from behind, letting him rest his head on his arm. Their bodies mingle like two matching puzzle pieces and there is desire, but also tenderness and the infatuation of friendship. Yuzuru’s skin emanates a febrile innocence and he embraces him tighter, wanting to protect it from the chaos of the universe.

‘I’m so happy I came here,’ the younger man can’t keep his eyes open and the caresses on the palm of his hand is an enchantment for a dream, ‘to work with Brian and Tracy.’ The room falls silent, except their own hearts. ‘Also… _you_ … when I saw your name…’

Javier never had the opportunity to hear the rest of the sentence. He kisses Yuzuru’s neck one last time before falling asleep and at that moment, the necklace breaks, the crystal beads scattered across their bodies, around and between them.

_Thieves on stolen time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Linda Julieta' - Beautiful Juliet
> 
> Clementine is a a hybrid fruit between a sweet orange and a mandarin origin. I took the liberties to change it to lemon to suit the plot better. They are still absolutely tasty!


	7. The Last Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of a journey to no one's land, unspoken goodbyes, and new beginnings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear reader, I finally managed to finish this! I can't believe I got teary while writing this. Who knew I had grew attached to this story?
> 
> The lyrics in this chapter belongs to 'Conquer the World' by Red Russian. I totally recommend you to listen to it when you encounter them. It really sets the mood. 
> 
> Disclaimer: This story is not meant to offend anyone and it is purely a product from my imagination.

Saturday. 9:00 AM. At the station.

‘Are you sure we should do this?’

 

_‘You two don’t need to come this weekend.’_

_‘Are you ditching us Brian?’_

_‘That’s exactly what I’m planning Javi. Ghislain is in Pamplona and the emergency jump remediation workshop he’s running got so popular he asked me for backup.’_

_‘So you thought of Yuzuru and I.’_

_‘Peace and sanity is what I’m thinking.’_

_‘For the weekend? But–‘_

_‘It’s only Saturday and Sunday morning. A trip away from this tiny town, it will be good for you.’_

 

‘We shouldn’t. But we can.’

 

_Once upon a time, in a distant kingdom unknown to mankind, a charming prince of hazelnut curls and almond cheeks ruled the seasons at the will of his unicorn wand. He bathed in the fairy dust of spring dragonflies, he swam in summer rivers of liquid silver, he flew on the autumn skies of tangerine peel, and he sat and read pages of winter papyrus by the sea. The fantastic creatures bowed to him and his blessings made the air sweet and healed the sun. One day, in a motion beyond space and time, a prisoner from the dark realms arrives. He can’t be mistaken – he is marked by the shadows and his skin bears the chains of necromancy. He was sad but so beautiful, encapsulated between life and death._

 

‘And do you want to?’

 

_The charming prince falls in love and he transforms the earth into snow and water into ice. The uninvited stranger twirls in the whiteness and he smiles – the most gorgeous dweller on the wheels of fate. But the gods are not lenient and there can’t be disruptions of order. They curse the prince for eternity, never to be reunited with happiness again. A kiss on the lips and he falls into a deep slumber, the face of his lover forgotten in the evanescent memory._

_What a strange dream._

 

‘I always want you.’

 

_Sara couldn’t stop crying that morning, the sleeve of her blue windbreaker already darkened from wiping her tears. Yuzuru hugged one last time and said he would visit them in the future. No promises were made though. Montoya still blushed every time he had direct contact with the younger skater, especially now in the potent handshake, and Raya was whining about why he couldn’t go as well, which earned him a good pinch in the forearm from Laura. Javier had walked away from them, sitting on the same mahogany table Yuzuru would during the afternoons, with his notebook and the tricolored pen. It was just a two-day itinerary. He hated the dramatic goodbyes and the glassy-eyed nods. It made him sick and uncomfortable, with worms perforating his intestines and moths crawling out of his ears._

 

Saturday. 9:05 AM. At the station. A few steps away from where they were just standing.

‘Here,’ Javier flips open a leaflet with a map of the whole country next to the ticket machine, names of cities written all over the land, extending to Portugal in the West and the Pyrenees and Andorra to the East, ‘close your eyes and point somewhere.’

‘What if it’s too far?’

‘Then we might never come back.’

Yuzuru laughs at the unforeseen eloping plans and he closes his eyes. The screeching of the departing train on the metal tracks and the perpetual hurried stomping of footsteps on the concrete floor urges him to move his finger and leave chance meet luck in their secret rendezvous. He can smell the honeysuckle bushes at the entrance and it trumps the clouds of dust that had risen from the traction of the locomotive. Would they be teleported instantly to a new district, a new coordinate not yet charted and named, and be kings of the world?

_Would you be my king and I, yours?_

Yuzuru takes a deep breath and his finger hits the creased, glossy paper.

 

Saturday. 11:16 AM. In the train.

Javier feels he’s being transported through a series of negative prints finally developed by the electric and chemical exchange of his brain. Yuzuru stares at the moving flashes of scenery and he can’t help but fixate his own gaze at the younger man, who is the only constant presence in the transient golden fields of barley and the tall pines and eucalyptus stretched in long rows of green and gray. There are small houses, farm watchers and dogs chasing cows twice their size.

He wonders what Yuzuru is thinking, how many bricks he counted for that fence or the angle of the roof tiles in the other direction. He can never tell what Yuzuru thinks, whether it’s one or many things at the same time, whether he thinks with each breath or whether it’s a new feeling each time he blinks. He’s marveled at how his irises, two black holes of intergalactic space, pull in everything not by gravity, but by the libertine essence of his core, who wants it all, not settling for less.

Javier is sucked in as well. He remembers seeing his own reflection in them and not knowing who that man was, a lost soul in that sea of nothing and everything. Now, to see himself in Yuzuru’s eyes, is all he wants. He wants to touch the pale hands, a brush of levity on what might not be there when all the grains of sand fall in the hourglass. He extends his own hand, but hesitation is a powerful force and he retreats it even before making contact.

The younger man is startled by the sudden motion, his mind reading all the unspoken anxieties and buried wishes in Javier’s spirit. He is the one to interlace their fingers, squeezing each bone and connection of flesh and cartilage with a painful clench of imaginary shackles, as if they would break into vanishing pieces if they were held a second later.

_How easy it is for a human to break apart and how easy it is for souls to fall strange._

 

Saturday. 12:07. No one’s land.

Javier never let go of that hand that searched for his with the same voracity. They were two strangers in the streets of red clay and quartz encrusted mosques and rusted rails around palaces with fortified walls. People spoke Spanish but it was as if the string of words that came out of their mouths were foreign sounds and he knew not what the murmurs and clamors captured by his ears were. He and Yuzuru were vagabonds in a land that belonged to no one, and if not belonging to someone meant being free and outside of time, Javier would bet his life on this sweet promise and never return.

The chocolate and lime parfait reminded the Spaniard of Yuzuru’s taste, zesty tanginess laced with not yet mature syrupy piquancy of cocoa, and he chuckles at the spoonful bites the younger man takes to the point of smearing whipped cream on the tip of his nose. He would lick it clean, bridge to nostril, and Yuzuru knows this, because he doesn’t even bother to wipe it off with a napkin. There are street performers in every corner they navigate, accordions and harmonicas to the sound of improvised pop tunes and living statues. They are all pretty generic except for the glass coffin and the seven dwarfs besides it, not with Snow White with the bitten apple inside, but Prince Charming and a broken mirror. It’s the attraction with the most coins offered but Javier is stricken by a déjà-vu of some parallel universe. Yuzuru pulls him away from the trance and entertains himself by being the model of an artist a few meters away, a rather peculiar man with Magritte’s bowler hat, Dali’s moustache and Picasso’s wrinkles. It’s the painter that beseeched Yuzuru to sit for a few minutes after calling him both _Endymion_ and _Adonis_ among a series of other names. The profile portrait was testament to the talent of his skillful charcoal drawing, Javier admitted that, but the true beauty of Yuzuru’s chiseled jaw, his sculptured chin, the golden ratio of his eyelashes, and the curvature of his cupid lips were something inconceivable and even preposterous to try to put into paper. The artist, whom they never learned of his name, refused to receive any money for the masterpiece, and so Yuzuru also refused the final work, asking him instead to keep the canvas. An old couple asks for direction to a cathedral, pointing to a square block in a tourist map, but neither of them knows where it is and they apologize in unison. The elderly lady excuses herself and her husband with a smile, joking that children should pay more attention to geography classes.

‘She was talking about you.’ Yuzuru says as he watches the red shoes and matching leather handbag disappear in a souvenir shop.

‘Why me?’

‘You’re a _child_.’

‘Am I?’ Javier takes a step closer to the younger man and the next words are a whisper witnessed by the trail of sweat down Yuzuru’s neck. He could lick that salty drop. ‘A child who can’t wait to _fuck_ you. Oh, I want to fuck you Yuzu. So much.’

‘Fuck me Javi.’ Yuzuru’s voice is on the same softness and up to the game.

If lust could be consummated by fire, Javier would be ashes already. He grabs the younger man’s hand, again, and kisses his palm, marking that vow for later.

‘Want to do something childish?’

And he runs, pulling Yuzuru along. They sprint aimlessly between crowds of people, their bags bouncing on their backs with the hustled speed of their galloping pace, and they cross red traffic lights, adrenaline sipping from their pores. Some drivers abuse on the car horn but Javier doesn’t care and points his middle finger in response to the cadence of _cabrón_ and _hijo de puta_.

The night curtains draw soon and they have had too many glasses of _água bendita,_ of holy water distilled from local breweries, and Javier sees more constellations than stars in the sky. Yuzuru is no more sober than him and his singing in his own dialect is an out of tune organ, difficult to appreciate, the Spaniard chuckles, but nonetheless endearing, and he wouldn’t mind to just listen for a couple more seconds. They stumble upon an isolated playground, sand on their shoes as they propel themselves onto the rubber seats of the swings. Javier can’t understand why Yuzuru is able to sit straight and not fall at the height he is reaching, the motion of his body rocking back and forth, like the pendulum of an old clock, enough to make him sick and his stomach convulse and threaten to spill their lunch, dinner, acidic juices, bile, everything his and theirs, that same moment.

‘Javi!’ The younger man is calling him with each lunge he takes. ‘JAVIER!’ He is suddenly shy, his own name chanted like a mantra for the world to memorize. He wants Yuzuru to halt but to never stop calling him by his name, as if _Javier_ was the only word left in his vocabulary.

The sky is lit with fireworks, coordinated pyrotechnic explosions of light confetti to celebrate the last remnant of the day. It’s gold circles, purple streams, and flowers of blue and green, sparkling above them like dribbled champagne that he could lick if he stuck his tongue out. Some people say that fireworks are the tears of the gods in their own Eden. If so, may they cry forever, Javier thinks.

‘Did you make a wish?’ Yuzuru is back with his feet on the ground.

‘I did.’

‘Me too.’

They look at each other for a split second and Javier believes that what he begged the universe for was what Yuzuru prayed for too.

_Stay._

 

Sunday. 5:08 AM. In their room.

Javier knows they both haven’t slept much, not at all in reality, after they have managed to secure a tiny room above the most vintage discotheque of the street. The old lady at the reception clearly did not enjoy her job at guarding the box with all the keys of the hostel. She was a woman of few words and had a suspicious manner of staring at the guests under her thick-framed glasses, but she had taken a liking to both of them, thankful that they only reeked of alcohol and sweat and not of drugs and who knows what else youngsters injected into their arms nowadays.

The sheets smell of cotton flower and fields of chamomile, like a long forgotten first day of spring. If only time walked backwards instead of running a marathon. Javier shifts around and he realizes Yuzuru is not next to him. The younger man is standing by the window, a premature autumn breeze raising the hairs at the back of his neck. His silhouette is carved by Michelangelo and his skin is inhumanely pale under the moonlight. Yuzuru is standing there, naked, jittery, as he stares at the infinite only he can see while wiggling his well-rounded, full apricot to the melody downstairs, not the deafening techno tunes but something so delicate that it’s almost imperceptible.

_We, we were so young_

_But life is a murderer_

_We stayed very long_

_But light is a vanishing hope._

_I had in mind_

_To conquer the world by your side._

‘Come here Yuzuru.’ His voice too is thin and velvety, not from fatigue, but he is afraid how vulnerable he will sound if he is allowed more words.

That is why they don’t talk. Not in languages foreign to them or in ambiguous codes used in warfare. They sit in front of each other, their legs extended on the sides and hugging the intimacy only known to them. They don’t talk. Their bodies do. Javier kisses Yuzuru, butterfly kisses on the forehead and closed eyelids, his own lips trembling as he meets the younger man’s ones, like pressing the smooth peel of a ripe lemon. Yuzuru was fluttering too, scared that divine punishment would arrive to finally execute them for their theft of time. His fingers curled at the short hairs on Javier’s torso, playing with them in the subtlest way, imprinting the tickling sensation and the firmness of the pectorals in his mind, _their_ minds. The Spaniard pleads for idyllic memory, but he doesn’t want to anger the gods anymore, so he deepens the kiss, covering Yuzuru’s mouth with his own as much as he can, he drinks of his breath and saliva, of the alcohol lingering in his tongue like their first kiss ever. He drags his hips forward and both their cocks finally meet. Yuzuru gasps into him and he thinks that is the most erotic sound he has and will ever hear. The younger man lays back, supporting his weight on his elbows, his spine arching for more contact and his milky thighs open even further, inviting him, tempting him to reach for more.

No. It is not provocation or allure.

How stupid could he be?

It was _trust_.

Javier leans into Yuzuru, kissing him again, less furtive and clandestine. What else could he give to say _yes, I trust you too?_

‘Yuzu,’ he joins their hands, their pulses vibrating at the tip of their fingertips, ‘ _enter_ me tonight.’

There are milliseconds of silence. Javier doesn’t know how many.

‘Are you sure?’

_Two as one._

He is already licking and sucking their fingers, his own version of confirmation. He notices hesitation written in Yuzuru’s face when the first one pushes into the tight ring of muscles, his chest heaving from panic that he was causing him pain. It was a little uncomfortable and strange, not a burning spasm, but baring him from all defenses, and slowly it became agonizing because he wanted more layers to be shed, and quicker. He grabs Yuzuru’s wrist and plunges the finger deeper, assuring him there was nothing to fear.

Yuzuru does not falter when a second finger goes in, then a third, wicked pleasure forming in his own navel that dripped over and within his own erection. He moans, Javier too, and his cries are more intense, more restrained, the way Javier bites his lower lip and loses a little more every time the black beads slip to the knuckles and brushes his inner thigh and his entrance.

‘I’ll give _them_ to you.’

_What?_

Javier clutches the chamomile sheets, now infused with his own sweat and pine scent, as Yuzuru penetrates him, unabashed and unyielding, fierce as his own tempestuous will. He does not even have time to adjust to the raw passion when the black crystals, cold and embodying part of the younger man’s soul, slides on his cock. They kiss his flesh and constrict him each time Yuzuru thrusts into him, pleasantly torturing him, each bead as they bounce up and fall back to the base of his almost exploding hardness.

Javier comes first, shooting all over their stomachs and the thought of coating the bracelet with his own essence makes him release even more and cling to the younger man, hoping he could feel the same promise in white. Yuzuru seals that pact, the sudden volcanic tightness catapulting him to his own orgasm inside, inside of Javier. He hopes his semen is ejected deep into his guts and veins so there will always be a part of him flowing within his body.

Neither of them speaks as they lay side by side, the sky outside turning into shades of orange and rose. They face each other, a shy laughter echoing in the walls of the room. They both close their eyes, sleep finally on their horizon. Their bodies are trapped in their own fluids and the pillow is wet with tears. Javier doesn’t know if these are his or Yuzuru’s.

 

Sunday. 7:49 PM. At the villa.

Javier never had the opportunity to say goodbye. When he woke up, a few hours ago, he thinks it was a few hours, after the sex (it was just it, wasn’t it?), Yuzuru had already gone, his shadow nowhere circumvented in the same space as he stood. He was fine, he said to himself. His back hurt, and there was a soreness between his legs, but he was an athlete and he was used to the pain. He steps now into the villa, Brian already offering him a drink, a glass of lemon water, three slices of the fruit in it. Yuzuru loved it this way too.

‘How was the camp?’

Javier takes a sip, downing almost half of the glass. The new bracelet on his wrist inadvertently hits the cup. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘What for?’

‘I, Yuzu–’ he never thought that his name now would be lodged in his trachea, like the kernel of an apricot in his throat that did not move, ‘we did not go to the camp. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to lie to you but, but–‘ he takes a deep breath and he shrugs his shoulders, suddenly feeling guilty and impotent.

Brian smiles, sympathetic and also as guilty, as he refills the lemonade. ‘Then I too have to apologize.’

‘Why?’

‘There was no camp. Ghislain never left Toronto.’

It was _all_ a lie.

Javier doesn’t know if he feels relieved or tricked but his grip on the glass is too strong and he might shatter the recipient anytime. Laura materializes in the room, running in her rubber flip-flops, and she hugs her brother. He is not ready to talk about the trip so he just dives into her warmth and embraces her back, tighter than usual, so she won’t disappear. She is not vanilla and lime, but magnolia. She smells like childhood and home.

Brian extends his hand. ‘It’s good to have you back Javi.’

He takes it. ‘It’s good to be back.’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

September. Beginning of Autumn. All traces of Summer have been diluted by time.

Javier watches the red stripes and orange rise as he sings every word of _La Marcha Real_ to the sound of the brass orchestra. The gold medal is tiny around his neck but it fills him with pride and he smiles accordingly for the photographers, as the other two competitors gather next to him in the podium.

‘He is not yet back.’ Tracy is holding the Spanish jacket, a bottle of water, half drunk, and Javier’s blade guards.

‘Don’t worry.’ Brian shares the same concern as the other coach. They both saw the performance – technically good, edges are improving, the cocky and charming attitude of the persona on ice. A good program, David would be proud, but totally devoid of _Javier Fernández_. The only time he saw a glimpse of his student was when he fell on the triple Axel. ‘He will be back.’

 

A victory in the first tournament of the year couldn’t have been better, Javier thinks, as he looks at the medal one more time before putting it in his locker at Cricket Club. Just as he picks up his sports bag, a small yellow towel falls to the floor.

The bag slides off from his shoulder almost as automatically and he kneels to pick it up. Yellow, colors faded, with patterns of dancing Winnie the Pooh. Small, of arm length, and rough from being washed. It smells of detergent, but also clementines. It smells of _him_.

_Yuzuru._

He is transported back to the summer, the sun of Spain, the ice-creams at the dilapidated fountain, the bicycles on the corn field, _his_ honey on toast, _his_ toes on the lake, _his_ curved lips as he slept, their bodies joined together, _Javi_ on his lips and _Yuzu_ on his own.

He can’t do this anymore. He can’t. His broad frame shields the world from his sobs but the tears don’t stop. They hit the tiles and the towel, soaking the fabric of his own shirt as well. He opens his mouth wider, the sobs are silent now – he can’t breathe. He sits down, the tears fogging his vision, perhaps the lack of oxygen, and his chest hurts.

_So this is how it feels._

_Am I going to die?_

 

_No, I won’t. Because a part of me will cease to exist. Because the me in you will cease and the you in me will die. And that means you will cease to exist too._

 

Javier calms down, his lungs opening for air once again, slow but steady, and his heart is pumping life back to his extremities. The numbness attacks him like needles but he can move again. He can feel his fingers, his legs, the twitching of his calves. He washes his face, his eyes still red, but Brian won’t mind seeing him like this.

 

He is more composed and he might just look tired after a competition when he sits in front of his coach in his office. The older man finishes signing a couple of papers, mountains actually, and he offers a bar of chocolate. Javier appreciates the gesture but he doesn’t eat it, his stomach still tied into knots.

‘How are you?’

For once, Javier doesn’t feel like lying. ‘I feel miserable.’

‘Didn’t your swan find its pair?’

‘I hurt my swan, and my swan hurt me.’ He taps his feet on the wooden floor, his gaze fixed on his fidgeting hands.

‘It’s good.’ Brian takes a sip of the coffee, now already cold. ‘Desire is dreadful and it consumes you Javi. But do you regret it?’

_Do you regret last night?_

‘He was special. You two together were special. I knew it since that night when he arrived.’

‘Why? How?’

‘Yuzuru never stopped looking at you. I never asked him to come to the camp. He was the one to call me. I said no at first, that I had already chosen a candidate for this summer, but he never gave up. He kept repeating your name.’

 

_My name. So this is what you wanted to tell me that night. That you knew me before I even knew myself. That you were waiting for me to realize that part of you was already in me and part of me was already in you. That we had never been broken and we had all the pieces in our hands._

 

_But they are scattered now and lost in time. We really were thieves, weren’t we? You and I._

‘Well then, I didn’t call you here for sermons. I leave those to Tracy. I accepted a new student.’

Javier looks at Brian, a little surprised and but also a tinge of betrayal. He is fine. He doesn’t need a substitute.

‘He should be arriving very soon.’ There is a knock on the door. Javier is reluctant to see the new boy. He is not ready to play the role of big brother, best friend, reliable mentor, or even caring _lover_. He wishes he could just go home.

And yet, he can’t shake off his gaze when the new student enters the room. Black hair, black pants, black T-shirt, black trainers, black sports bag. Thin, he is too thin, such a slender frame, and he looks straight into his eyes. He smiles and bows. _He_ doesn’t have the black beads because those are in his wrist.

_We are thieves but that is something between us._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a bumpy journey but you made it! Thank you for flying with Puniyo airlines. We wish you a pleasant day and we hope to serve you soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is much appreciated <3


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